


First Summer in the Greenwood

by jessieb



Series: One Hundred Leagues and Ten [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessieb/pseuds/jessieb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Up until now, their only meetings since the Last Alliance have taken place in Imladris. For the first time, the situation has been right both for Thranduil to issue an invitation and for Elrond to accept it. Thus, this visit will be an entirely new experience. Just when Thranduil has begun to feel comfortable with the whole idea. And, of course, there's a certain Necromancer beginning to stick his oar in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Warm Welcome

Thranduil traced the splodges of ink with a fingertip. Despite appearances, there hadn’t been a mishap with a quill; the marks on the map were entirely purposeful. The elf by his side turned to the next page of parchment.

“Three,” he read. “Here.” He pointed to a spot a finger's width further North than the others. Thranduil dipped the brush in his hand into the pot of black ink once again and silently placed a dot at the end of that fingertip. 

“You are certain that was the position?” he asked.

Almeldir nodded apologetically. “So it says.” 

There was a soft knock at the door that led out to the library. Their resident cartographer, Nileth, looked up from her own notes with a frown. 

“We’ve only just been brought the midday meal,” she noted. 

Almeldir speared a mushroom, now cold, from Thranduil’s abandoned plate. He considered it for a moment before popping it in his mouth and chewing. “I for one would not object if they wished to supplement it.” He looked across the table. “Thranduil,” he prompted. 

Thranduil glanced up from the map. “Hm?” 

“There’s someone at the door,” Nileth said. “Your steward is hopeful for more food.” 

“He is always hopeful for more food. Come in.”

A guard entered and bowed. “My lord. Your son approaches with the Imladris contingent.” 

“Thank you, Siriann.” Thranduil replied. He set the ink brush down carefully upon its stone holder. 

“Almeldir, you had best accompany me. Nileth, would you mind very much if we were to abscond and leave the rest of this to you?” 

“Not at all.” She smiled at them, already taking up the brush. “Please do take Almeldir with you; in truth, I will be grateful to be able to proceed without the imminent danger of food debris on my maps.” 

They left, stopping by Thranduil’s quarters where he shrugged on an outer robe and retrieved his oaken staff. As ever, it reminded him of the duty he had sworn himself to, of the trust placed in him. As they left and began walking to the throne hall, Almeldir cleared his throat.

“Before we meet them, I simply wished to say that you have my support and I thank you for the trust you have shown in me.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him but kept walking. 

“We have entrusted each other with our very lives in times past. A secret such as this is hardly of the same ilk. Nevertheless, you have my thanks also for your part in this visit. You are certain you remain able to take on a greater share of responsibilities until the Autumn?” 

“Quite certain. Remember that Legolas will be assisting. I know you wish to protect him; such is the prerogative of all parents. But you know as we all do that he is of an age now to take on more responsibility and, Thranduil, I truly do believe that if any ill should ever befall you, the populace will require him to. I know I have speculated so before, but if he had been born when you were made King he would have been named Steward, I am sure of it. In some respects, Lord Elrond’s visit is the perfect opportunity for him to stretch his wings a mite.”

“You said similar of my Most Excitable Squire, I recall. Look how that ended.” 

“It was not for lack of enthusiasm. Anyway, you cannot have thought too ill of him if he’s now a member of the palace guard.” 

“Yes, I wonder if I shall live to regret that.”

He climbed the stairs to the throne and sat, Almeldir standing patiently at the base of the steps. 

Word had reached Thranduil five days ago that the group from Imladris had been received at the Forest Gate. The length of time it had taken was unsurprising; if he knew his people at all, these unusual but invited guests would have been feted throughout their journey. It would have been an easy, merry trip. He knew from experience the continually varying company of curious elflings, the singing and storytelling as they travelled and had been informed that when the company had camped each night, they had been invited to eat with the nearest village, who had made merry in welcome. He had hoped as much and it certainly boded well. Having their beloved Prince as the liaison was likely to have facilitated that. Speaking of which, the sounds of a group entering the Halls reached him. He looked along the bridge and there was his son at the head of a group of just three others. They soon reached the dais. 

“Sire.” Legolas greeted him simply, with a practiced bow, before stepping to the side and turning to face the three elves who had accompanied him and the rest of the honour guard.

Their visitors wore no armour, so close to their destination, but Elrond wore a simple circlet in his dark hair and though their weapons were undrawn, they still carried them. Not demanding that they be relinquished was a deliberate choice on Thranduil’s part, a silent declaration of trust that he hoped would not go unnoticed. With at least one elf of the Noldorin kindred amongst the party, any dispersion of tension would be invaluable. At least Elrond had quietly made certain that none of them had ever been associated with the Feanorian faction. He received them whilst seated on the throne, before descending and greeting Elrond as a brother-in-arms. It was a warriors’ embrace, faces crossing close enough to have kissed. 

“It is good to see you, my old friend.“ Elrond said warmly. “We are most glad of the invitation. You know my advisors, of course.”

Elrond indicated two Sindarin elves, both of whom he was indeed familiar with. Both were knowledgeable, measured and, perhaps more importantly, not inclined to pry into Elrond’s personal dealings. One had been an advisor to Ereinion Gil-Galad in Lindon for a time, so Thranduil did wonder on occasion whether he could recognise certain patterns in Elrond’s behaviour. Erestor had once mentioned, for example, an atypical tendency to be ill-tempered for a time after Thranduil left Imladris. However, they had not been given cause to believe this elf had reached any untoward conclusions. Thranduil nodded to them in acknowledgement. 

“Your journey was untroubled?” he asked them. 

All three elves smiled and the stiff formality thawed somewhat. Elrond answered, “There was some discord, mainly a debate on the matter of directions; it seems that our maps may be out of date.”

“I see. You must review them against our own while you are here. I am certain there are developments in the West that we will also need to be appraised of. You took the new Path, as I advised?”

“Indeed we did.” Yes, Elrond had certainly heeded Thranduil’s advice on the matter, and noted it. He had also noted that their escort had remained exceedingly vigilant until well within the Elvenking’s territory. 

“I look forward to news from the West. For the moment, I imagine you are all somewhat weary of travelling.” 

“The last stretch has been a great joy to us all, I believe.”

“I am pleased to hear it. Guests are rare here, so expect to be made much of. We can proceed with introductions and such at a later date. Please be welcome in our home. If there is anything you need, simply let someone know. There will be a feast and celebration tonight, to which you are all welcome as guests of honour; these elves here will show you to your rooms and will tell you all that you need to know.”

They all bid each other farewell for the time being and as they left, he brought Legolas to him with a gesture. 

“Have the rest of the company been met and housed?” he enquired.

“Yes, Adar. There are seven private individuals but they have their own lodgings. Our dancer friends are among them, as we hoped."

“Yes, I am glad they could come. It has been some time since they were last able to. You have taken the names and occupations of these private individuals?” 

“We have a full listing.”

“You have made them all aware of the invitation tonight?”

“I have.” 

He nodded, satisfied. “Good. Galion tells me all is prepared for our contribution and, of course, the people are more than ready.” 

They shared a conspiratorial look. Any cause for festivities was a valid cause for most of their people and the feast of welcome for the commencement of the first visit of the son of Elwing was unlikely to be passed over. He continued. 

“Very well, my son. Pass me this list and bring the others through.”

Some time later, Thranduil paused and listened down the corridor one final time as he grasped the door handle. Nothing. As it should be at this time of day, in this section of the familial quarters. He let himself into the small sitting room, closed the door once again and silently slid the lock into place. He crossed to the bedroom door and paused. There Elrond was, beautiful, graceful and so very welcome. He was stood beside a small chest on the dressing table that was full of papers and, in the torchlight, looked disconcertingly like Dior Aranel. Thranduil felt himself begin to drift into memory and yanked himself back. He leant indolently against the doorway with his arms crossed. 

“I trust you have been made comfortable?“ he asked. “Let me know if there is anything you require.” 

Elrond watched him with gentle scrutiny and blindly picked up and straightened some papers, before putting them back down in the same spot. He crossed from the dressing table to stand before him and kissed him in a much more intimate welcome than they had exchanged in the throne room. 

“Welcome to the Greenwood” Thranduil murmured, and ran the fingers of one hand through a few strands of dark hair.

“Why do you loiter there? I didn’t cross Caradhras and the plains of Anduin for you to be standing in doorways.” 

The familiarity of the touch of Elrond’s lips, and the feel of his arms sliding around his waist, made it seem as though they had never been so distant from each other. The perceived gulf between them proved illusory, the very idea now appearing ridiculous. Languid kisses lured him away from the solidity of the doorframe and into the room.

“I thought it might be best to allow you to regain your equilibrium.” He replied, as Elrond’s lips touched the hollow of his throat. “Evidently, such consideration is unnecessary.”

A caress over his shoulders and down his arms doffed his heavy outer robe to fall upon the floor. As Elrond slipped the first fastenings at the neck of his robes open, he reached for Elrond’s belt with one hand and, with the other, closed the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how very short this is! 
> 
> I appear to have misjudged my ability to write multi-chapter fiction. Please bear with me while I learn how to write. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the below. Consider it a plot-less interlude, of sorts? 
> 
> (PS, If you would be in any way willing to offer pre-publishing feedback I will be eternally grateful. Not joking. Know nothing about writing? That's OK. English not your first language? Still more than OK. Constructively critical? Even better. If you're happy for me to send you bits and pieces on occasion and ask whether you think something is in character then we're in business. Happy to discuss at length? I'll have your babies. )

_Elrond ran a hand flat down Thranduil’s smooth, strong back and held him closer, turning them until Thranduil was stretched out on his back. Thranduil’s legs parted and his knees slid up to bracket Elrond’s hips seamlessly. It was far distanced from the disjointed awkwardness of their first encounters, but even as then, he was amazed with each new movement, with the beauty of Thranduil’s form and the feel of him._

_Whenever they were together, he intended to spend time, to catalogue every facet and imprint them on his mind. These desires born of affection came upon him randomly; the colour of his hair in spring sunshine, the shape of his hand as he considered the next stroke of his paintbrush, the twist of his lips when wryly amused. He wanted to linger and cherish, to spend hours simply absorbing him, and yet one of these things would somehow touch him and he would be caught by an urgency and want that filled him up until he could only express it bodily._

_Elrond broke off the kiss and retrieved the jar he had placed in the bedside drawer only shortly before, turning back to find that Thranduil had grabbed a pillow and placed it under his own hips, making Elrond smile. It was so unlike his usual movements, so considered and contained. He traced a vague pattern of oak leaves on Thranduil’s thigh for a moment, while his other hand moved lower._

_“I was under the impression that you had crossed Caradhras and the plains of Anduin for this?” Thranduil complained. “Or am I mistaken and you would rather…Oh.”_

_That vague breath of mild surprise was a pleasant sound and the way his lips stayed parted made Elrond’s own breath catch. He wondered how best to hear that again. He curled his finger experimentally and noticed that there was less resistance than he would normally expect until they had been together a few times. Thranduil, observing his puzzlement, cleared his throat._

_“You are always so excessively careful when we meet after a separation. I thought I would negate some of the necessity with a little practice.”_

_Now that was very interesting. Elrond doubted it had been quite so much a chore as it sounded. Had Thranduil…imagined anything? Were there particular desires awoken that Elrond could fulfil?_

_“Did you envisage anything in particular during this ‘practice’?” he enquired, as he added a second digit._

_Thranduil inhaled and exhaled carefully. “Glorfindel” he said flatly._

_Elrond chuckled. “He will be delighted, I’m sure.” He pressed his fingers deeper. Thranduil moaned and closed his eyes. He settled one hand over Elrond’s at his hip._

_“This.” He gasped. “I thought of this.”_

Elrond was startled out of the recollection by a sharp breath of air into his face. The reverie cleared and he saw Thranduil as he was now, just a short while later, lying naked and facing him and looking pleasingly satisfied. Elrond metaphorically, and somewhat unsuccessfully, stamped upon the smug fulfilment he felt at the sight.

“My apologies. I was remembering what you said earlier regarding practice. You continue to surprise me.” he said.

“Ah, I see. You had best not remember it too intensely, or we may be abed for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Do you have somewhere else to be?” he asked, brushing his fingertips over Thranduil’s shoulder and arm. Personally, he felt that he would like to remain here in blissful, companionable privacy for as long as feasible. “Must I persuade you to stay?”

“You are persuasive enough without effort, I assure you. In actuality, I have nowhere particular that I need to be until tonight and comparatively few calls upon my time for however long you grace us with your presence.”

Elrond paused in his caress. “Oh?”

“Predominantly, it is believed important that so unprecedented a visit be a success, so my spending a great deal of time with you is virtually expected. To that end, Almeldir has in fact offered to take on a great many of my usual responsibilities and Legolas will be assisting much more than usual. I am assured that his captain can spare him. Unless something unexpected occurs, I should have more time for leisure this summer than I have had for several centuries.”

“I will be certain to express my gratitude.”

“I do not consider that necessary; doubtless Legolas has mentioned to my household how my mood is improved in your company. That said, I do not intend for us to spend it all in my guest chambers. Come, sluggard.”

He rose, retrieved some water from the channel in the sitting room to fill the washbasin, and began to collect his clothing. Elrond reminded himself to ask about the water. He wondered how the designers had retained enough water pressure to continue the flow throughout all the myriad channels, and how they mitigated the inevitable erosion.

“Where is my boot?” Thranduil muttered to himself after a moment. Elrond thought back.

“Under the bed.” he replied .

“How? Oh yes, of course. You know, I am terribly remiss as a host. When I arrived you were all bathed and clean. Now look at you.”

“I consider it a fair trade.” He dipped a waiting cloth into the washbasin and looked up at Thranduil, sprawled loose-limbed in the chair. Something caught his eye and he smiled.

“I will need to comb your hair before we leave.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond is chucked into a Greenwood feast. In response, he does what he does best; he analyses. Thranduil is feeling defensive, in more ways than one...

 The reason for Thranduil dragging him from the warm bed turned out to be a tour, partly in the hope that this would guard against him becoming hopelessly lost in the near future. In fact, he was now quite looking forward to it, as from what he had seen thus far the Halls were unexpectedly beautiful and he remembered how Thranduil had described them as being hewn to harmonise with the naturally occurring caverns wrought by the flow of the underground rivers and springs. He looked forward very much to properly seeing the gardens, growing throughout the halls where shafts of sunlight lit the forest floor and millennia of river processes had formed soil. He had the impression that you would never quite have seen everything there was to see here. 

As they walked, they discussed more personal news of family and friends, details of their lives since they had last seen each other that mere letters could not convey. From the Twins’ continued errantry, though Thranduil did not comment or question but merely listened, for which Elrond was grateful, to the findings of Elrond’s study into blood vessels, which he would be presenting to a conference of healers within the month. It would be advantageous; the varied ethnicities of Greenwood, a crucible of Úmanyar culture, meant that an already strong grounding in healing lore continued to flourish into this Third Age.

As they entered the family’s garden, they met an _Elleth_ he estimated to be around Thranduil’s age, garbed in a sturdy gown of Sindarin fashion. Thranduil introduced her as Alassiel, renowned silk mistress and his cousin. Elrond had several robes of his own made from her excellent work. She smiled tightly at Elrond, greeted him with exquisite politeness, and excused herself without ever quite meeting his eyes.

‘Memories,’ Thranduil murmured by way of explanation. ‘You were telling me about Arwen’s composition?’

The passage opened out into a vast curving chamber, a tributary running around its far edge. The river had clearly carved itself a wide swathe, and now the floor of the chamber was within the raised  bend of the meander. Sunlight infiltrated from high above them to the floor of fertile deposited silt, prompting the growth of an unexpectedly well developed fragment of woodland. Even here, the beauty of spring manifested; at present, the ground was covered with snowdrops.

Elrond couldn’t help but wonder how reminiscent of Menegroth the scene before him was; how much of the greatest home of his mother’s people he was finally seeing.

 ‘I must find you some paintings of it while you’re here,’ Thranduil said, ‘as we discussed.’ Somehow this seemed to remind him of something completely different. ‘Do we have any further indication as to where the Witch-king has fled to?’

May Eru forbid that he be predictable. ‘Not with any certainty, though we do not believe he has reached Gundabad. Earnur attempted to pursue him, you know.’

 ‘I had heard. The young fool is fortunate to be alive.’

‘It was auspicious that Glorfindel was present to caution restraint. Firmly. Angmar itself is disbanded but the Dunedain…’ What were those shadows in the far corner of the high vaulted ceiling? ‘The Dunedain are greatly diminished.’

They looked vaguely ominous in the waning light. Elrond stopped Thranduil with a touch on his arm. He pointed to the dark, just identifiable shapes.

‘Are those bee hives?’

‘Indeed they are. We encouraged them to settle there, partially for honey but also for the sake of the plants here. We have more hives in the public garden.  If you stay on until Iavas you could see the honey harvest. It is quite a spectacle.’

‘I imagine so. How is it done?’

‘That wall is scaled, first. Do you see the metal ring upon the ceiling in that far corner?’

He stepped closer to Elrond and pointed. Elrond could almost sense the slender gap between them as a solid entity.

‘Yes, I see it. Them. How many are there?’

‘Five all told. Rather than creating new holds each year, we set the loops into the roof and the elf who scales the wall hooks themselves onto the first -you see the hand-holds to the edge?-  and then takes the rope they carried up with them and throws it through the next loop. The next elf uses that rope to climb up and sets the rope for the next elf and so on. It is safer than, say, ladders for example. We solicit permission to retrieve the honey and we sing to the bees to calm them, but they forget the negotiation sometimes. It is best that the collectors remain some distance away, and with a hasty escape ready.  They choose a comb and cut off a portion using a blade attached to a long pole, and then simply catch it with a net on another pole.’

‘As you say; simple,’ Elrond murmured wryly.

‘It is not quite such lunacy as it sounds,’ Thranduil assured him. ‘You could attempt it yourself this year, if the prospect incites curiosity.’

Elrond looked up, far up, at the remote combs in the very eaves of the great, lofty hall, and at the rocks in the shallow water below them, which remained jagged from lack of erosion in the tranquil beck. He wondered how many of the forest’s tallest trees would fit in that space. Five, at least. Perhaps even ten; it was difficult to find a point of reference.

‘I thank you for the offer, my dear. Nevertheless I believe I may prefer to observe.’

Thranduil leant momentarily closer.

‘Take care,’ he cautioned, ‘Almeldir is approaching and voices do carry here.’

Sure enough, when he turned around Thranduil’s steward was striding towards them. He, like all of them, appeared to have changed somewhat since the Last Alliance. His natural ebullience had seemed to fade through the years of war, but he greeted Elrond cheerfully, a shade remaining of Thranduil’s lively Second in Command. It seemed that his vigour was now finally being utilised constructively.

‘We are summoned, I presume?’ Thranduil asked.

‘In your own time, but yes it’s nearly dusk. Shall we meet you in the atrium as usual?’

‘Yes, I think so. We will not be long.’

They met quite a few people in the atrium, as it turned out; most of Thranduil’s extended family, by both blood and marriage. Thankfully, he was prepared.

He had found that his libraries were woefully inadequate in their coverage of Oropher’s House. Gradually, documents pertaining to Doriath were surfacing and new ones were being compiled by a new wave of intellectuals striving to make sense of the tumultuous First Age. Yet of details of the Sindarin noble families his library remained meagre. He could trace through to Oropher, Oropher to Thranduil and Thranduil to Legolas, but there was an utter dearth of any other relatives. So much so that he had been perplexed when Celebrian had once mentioned Oropher’s younger brother in passing. When he had put his request to Thranduil one summer morning for a copy of his family tree, Thranduil had appeared bemused.

‘ _Certainly, I can draft one for you, but_ _for what possible purpose?’_

_‘I wish to make myself familiar with it; I would not give the greatest of impressions to your people if I were to meet your kin and not know who they are.’_

_‘Hm. Well, the invitation is not official yet.’_

Nevertheless, he had sat at Elrond’s desk and sketched one, complete with the occasional less than complementary _epesse_. He had paused at one stage and spoken offhandedly.

_‘Shall I include deceased relatives, in the event that they arise in conversation?’_

_‘I had not considered that. Yes, if you would.’_

When they arrived for the evening’s feast, loam soft beneath their feet and the bare tree limbs gleaming in the fire and starlight, the glade was already a cacophony of music and colour. There were elves everywhere but most attention appeared to be focussed on a group singing a tribal song; skilled Lindi voices raised in a song of welcome to friends old and new. He judged it an Ossiriandic song, with simple lyrics, intricate harmonies, voices as percussion. He found the accent of the lead singer difficult to understand; it was almost a dialect all of its own and differed from what he had heard of the Nandorin accents. Somewhere out of sight, instruments were being tuned and a child’s shrieking laugh cut across the commotion. The savoury smells of roasting meat and baking bread, and the sight of the long table near groaning with food reminded him how long it had been since they had broken their fast upon the road.

Elves paused and turned to him as they passed; welcoming, curious, restrained. An understandable wariness. An occasional slap of hostility. Always, there had been a watchfulness by people who never quite knew what to make of him, and he must remember, too, that these were woodelves, and naturally suspicious.

Three children ran up to them with their arms full of the flowers of early spring. With a smile, Thranduil knelt on one knee to allow the children to weave the flowers into his hair and crown. Snowdrops, wood anemones, primroses and others he didn’t recognise that must be indigenous.  The eldest child guided the others, but still when they finished there were several flowers left. Thranduil took them and returned the favour to his diminutive attendants. The ease of it implied that this was a well-worn custom, but he had never heard of it. He knew, of course, of the tendency for Nandor and Avari in particular to wear such decorations in their hair. Some of those around them currently had flowers, leaves or feathers woven through their hair. But this held an air of ceremony he had not expected.

Ah, but there at the end of the long table was a custom he knew of, and he watched with clandestine interest. A common practice here, bringing a gift to share with their fellows and with their host, who as a rule provided the most bountiful and desirable fare. It was an old custom; accounts noted it from far back even before the Sundering, though it had been all but lost in Eldarin cultures. More elves were arriving, bearing contributions of food for the meal; baked fish, or meat, stews, roasted vegetables, hearty Greenwood bread filled with nuts and seeds. One family brought five enormous fruitcakes to set upon the long table. He saw that some passed their load directly to attendants; uncooked meat or fish, preserved fruits, jams, chutneys, piles of roots. The gifts were chosen based upon the situation of the giver, and the weight they gave to the proceedings. There were even several proverbs that he knew of which referenced an individuals’ approach to their contributions, and what this said of their character; you did not want to be described as a person who would bring merely windfall fruit to a feast when they had plenty of food at home.

In practical application of this custom, Erestor’s knowledge had been invaluable, and Thalaeron materialised, as he was wont to do, at the most convenient time. He unobtrusively passed Elrond the gift they had finally settled on; a handsome chest made of elm with an intricate veneer inset on the lid. The entourage who had accompanied them from their fair Imladris gathered as though merely waiting for this moment; knowing Thalaeron, they had been. Unexpectedly, the hubbub quieted, save for a few murmurs, as he approached the table with his retinue behind.

Such scrutiny… He reminded himself that it wasn’t considered appropriate to speak when giving his contribution, simply because it was seen as uncouth to purposely draw attention to your gift. He placed the box on the table with care, and stepped away as though he could not feel the myriad eyes upon him.

Galion, having to determine whether the gift would be placed at table for the feast now or taken to be stored, opened the lid to reveal the spices packed within; nutmeg, saffron, pepper, cinnamon and others. Erestor had assured him that this was an appropriate gift, one that would express thanks for the invitation, not merely the meal, and express his readiness to engage in a beneficial relationship between the realms.

‘Come this way, and I will introduce you to some of our village leaders.’ Thranduil said, and then, under his breath, ‘A good choice.’

‘Erestor sends his regards,’ Elrond said aloud.

It occurred to him that although he had never come across this particular custom in Lothlorien, the culture they had in common with the Elves under Celeborn and Galadriel was clear. With Celebrian’s people.

He pushed the thought away, concentrated instead on the contentment of being in his friend’s companionship once more, and the novelty of his environment.

And so began an evening of disorientation and delight, beginning with myriad introductions; ‘Not to worry!’ exclaimed one rather jolly looking elf, already half in his cups, ‘No need to know who we are until the Gathering.’ Disturbing, that the failure of his attempt to commit so many names and faces to memory had been so easily construed. He was struck by how different it was to home; here, people simply passed food along the table, or went to fill their plates elsewhere. Few staff attended, and those there were as much part of the party as the others.

 ‘Your timing is impeccable, Lord Elrond,’ a nearby lady began, ‘The Spring festival always takes place around this time. Such a wonderful tradition.’

An elf festooned with owl feathers cleared his throat.

‘I for one was not convinced, initially, that we needed to store quite so much provision over the winter, but even I can concede the benefits of such ample fare for the final benefit of morale on such occasions,’ he intoned, and inclined his head minutely to Thranduil, who mirrored the gesture but then immediately took a generous sip of wine and changed the subject. Elrond wondered whether there had been any form of seating plan in place; he suspected the designer thereof would find short shrift with their King for some time.

As Galion passed close by with a carafe, Thranduil snagged his sleeve in two fingers and murmured in his ear. He nodded enthusiastically and changed his course, weaving through a crowd of younger elves helping to serve. Considering how everyone was milling around, it appeared that there was no seating plan after all.

Elrond found himself the centre of attention for some time, exacerbated by the fact that elves were almost constantly changing places around them, Galion reaching between them to place bowls of crushed black pepper along the long table. Thranduil disappeared for a time, but he had an excellent conversation with Almeldir, who was indeed doing well as he had believed, and was introduced to some very interesting people. He was reacquainted with some known faces also, including the healer who had arranged their little conference. He was particularly well known for his work with trauma injuries to hands which, if left untreated, could cause malformations. He had some work of his own to present on his findings on injuries to the tendons of the hand, which sounded fascinating.

A new song swelled in the glade, sung in an unusual dialect. He thought he could understand it, though. It spoke of dreams of gilded colour and poems of a time long past. The singer recalled flowers blooming in the springtime, and knew that the flowers of her long ago lovers garden would also be in bloom. When her lover walked among the blooms she would recall their love. Yet of the poem that had grown between them, only loam remained. The singer wished, for the _Elleth_ she loved, uncounted poems of exquisite beauty.

He found the meaning beautifully melancholy, though it would be difficult to translate and keep a melody. Thranduil returned and commandeered Almeldir’s recently vacated seat.

‘Who is the composer of this song?’ Elrond asked him.

‘This? It is one of Emlineth’s; the dancer you met earlier. She composed it specifically for dancing to.’

‘I doubt you would discover much desire for such a song in Imladris.’ Eglerion interjected.

Thranduil’s gaze settled on him for a long moment. ‘Opinions vary in the Hidden Valley as much as they do anywhere, kinsman.’

It appeared that Elrond was going to be causing trouble, however unintentionally.

Fortuitously, possibly too fortuitously in fact, Calenniel asked Thranduil for a dance at that point. As they disappeared once more into the crowd, Elrond found himself studied appraisingly by several elves. Unfortunately, Nostalion and Thalaeron were deep in discussion of food storage methods. He let the drumbeats pulse through him and watched Thranduil dance, admiring, as always, his musicality. His command of instruments themselves may have been simply passable, but he clearly adored music. This particular style of pair dancing, more common here than at home, had always interested him when he had seen it in Lindon, whilst it was still in early development.  

‘I suppose you wonder why the flowers?’ one elf finally enquired of him, waving a hand in the vague area of her own rich, dark hair.

Not in so many words, he thought, but inclined his head in acceptance. Why-the-flowers continued.

‘We weren’t certain about these Iathrim initially.’ The elf paused to flick an eyebrow in Thranduil’s direction. ‘We saw potential in them, but how were we to know if our people felt the same? And how to find out without making the debate too obvious? The decision to propose Oropher as _Caun_ – that is a leader, by the by, a King-‘

Elrond knew the meaning of _Caun_ but he kept his peace.

‘-was long in the making;    When the council were secretly debating whether to ask the people whether we ought to name Oropher as _Caun_ , we had a feast such as this. Some blossom drifted into Oropher’s hair, just a few little flowers. Yet they resembled a crown. Two children built upon them and wove crowns of flowers into his and Thranduil’s hair. They had no way of knowing what was being debated but it was as clear a sign as we could wish for that we should open the question for debate. ‘

‘It was fate,’ said an Avari elf to his left, without looking away from his whittling.

‘Crowned by the Wood, crowned by our children. We do not take leaders lightly.’

What was the purpose of that last remark? Perhaps if he had been paying more attention, he would have picked up more cues. Well, so be it. It may even have been simple conversation. He saw Thranduil, on his way back to the table, be intercepted by Eglerion. Within a few words of conversation, Thranduil was looking very blank and imperious.

‘You were of Denethor’s people?’ Elrond asked vaguely.

‘My mother and father were.’

Unlooked for, Thranduil’s niece-by-marriage appeared beside her uncle. Elrond could just hear her loud exclamation.  ‘Oh, Uncle, I have been meaning to speak with you.’ She hooked her arm through Thranduil’s and began to steer him away. ‘Good eve, Eglerion,’ she called over her shoulder. As the two wandered through the crowd with their heads bent conspiratorially close, Elrond was struck by how much she looked like her aunt.

‘-perfect timing.’ Thranduil was saying. ‘Flawless as always.’

It did appear to be; her babe was beginning to grizzle in his father’s arms. She sat, took him and loosed her gown. Elrond looked away quickly, though he noticed that the child’s father watched appreciatively.

Searching for a more suitable scene, he saw Legolas, sat cross legged upon the grass some distance away with a few peers. The same children who had approaching Thranduil earlier were weaving snowdrops into his braids. He seemed oblivious, until he reached behind and caught one child around the waist to hoist above him, as she shrieked.

A touch to his arm, and Thranduil handed him a warm mug; goat’s milk, with honey and a little nutmeg, the latter most likely from his gift.

‘I didn’t realise you kept goats,’ he said. Thranduil shrugged.

‘It is a fairly new endeavour. They were a gift from Dale, the new human settlement to the East we were discussing earlier.’

Legolas, who had returned to fill his cup with warm mulled cider, asked ‘Is this the goats?’

‘Yes,’ Thranduil said. ‘I had neglected to mention your part in the whole debacle, but as you are he-‘

‘Be fair, Thranduil, they are a boon.’ Calleniel interjected. ‘Child, remind your _Adar_ what was said when they were gifted to your delegation.’

‘It was more their method of saying it, but in summary they wished to appease the ire of Rhovanion’s most fey warlord,’ Legolas grinned. ‘Clearly the fear we put into the Wainriders and the Eotheod has spread.’

‘Good,’ Thranduil said.

Legolas and Calleniel repaired for a dance, as they all looked on. Thranduil’s niece hefted her child high. ‘Free to the highest bidder,’ she said, conversationally. Antien indicated himself and received the now content child happily.

He bounced him un-gently on his knee; Elrond grimaced before he could prevent it, but the boys father saved him from interfering.

‘Ai, Antien he has just had a feed.’

‘Nonsense, he’s fine, you go and have a dance.’ With them gone, there was hardly anyone left at their end of the table by this point; the nearest elves to Thranduil, Elrond and Antien were a group of five rather loud singers at least three long strides away.

‘You’re well enough, aren’t you?’ Antien continued. The child stared up at his keeper with a drunken smile and very efficiently vomited milk all over the elf that held him, but without spilling a drop upon himself. Antien stood and exclaimed aloud, holding the boy away from him, and searching desperately for somewhere to put him down before realising that he was trapped; he could hardly throw him into the near-empty dish of venison sausages, for example. Thranduil’s uninhibited laughter was contagious; Elrond found himself chuckling.

‘Give him to me!’ Thranduil exclaimed.

 With Antien anxious to remove the pungent vomit from his clothing, the child was nearly dropped in the exchange over the table. As it was, one little foot was smeared through the sloe jam Elrond had been enjoying earlier. ‘Antien, you are utterly ineffectual,’ Thranduil said, exasperated but still grinning. ‘We must get you bedded and a father, because you simply do not learn.’

He expertly settled the boy to sit on his knee and face him. Seemingly with difficulty, he managed to stop laughing and regarded the child with a serious mien.

 ‘Very well done,’ he said gravely. ‘I am proud of you.’  The child burbled up at him and happily seized the slice of dried fruit Thranduil proffered. ‘Desist from informing upon me to your Nana and Ada and you may have more later.’ he continued conspiratorially.

How had Elrond forgotten how much his lover adored children? A memory came to him, the afternoon sun of Imladris casting a golden haze over the table set for tea, and the child that Thranduil held dark haired and grey eyed; Elladan, not more than a year of age. The boy had a foul look upon his face, clearly passing a stool. _‘Ah,’_ Thranduil said. _‘You do look ever so like your Adar when you do that.’_ Celebrian’s voice, deceptively mild, was, as ever, both a joy and a kick to his heart. _‘Teach my sons impertinence, cousin, and you will gravely regret it.’_

Back in Greenwood, Elrond postulated, ‘Some might suggest that an elf residing within a forest ought not to kindle fires beneath the homes of others.’

‘Well said,’ declared Antien, pointing at Thranduil with the hand that wasn’t mopping at his tunic with a wetted cloth. ‘You may come again,’ he said aside to Elrond. ‘As for babes, you may keep them, and moreover,’ he looked at Thranduil pointedly, ‘I prefer my wine red, as you very well know.’

‘Not very well,’ Thranduil said. ‘Though I might have contrived to, had I known what I was missing.’

Antien paused in his blotting, and tossed the cloth on the table.

‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I believe I may in fact need to change.’

Elrond, having finally understood the reference, nevertheless waited until he was gone before he cleared his throat. ‘Was that entirely necessary?’ he said, as quietly as he could without leaning closer. 

Thranduil turned away from the babe. ‘Did it make you uncomfortable?  Do not mind Antien and I. We have been jesting about such things for as long as we have known what we were jesting about.’

Elrond had been mistaken about Antien’s reaction, then. All the same. ‘I do not know that I will ever be comfortable with such discussions in public.’

‘Whom do you suppose is listening? Them?’ Thranduil tilted his head towards the oblivious singers now seated on the snow-drop carpeted floor. They were still easily three large paces away; too far to hear them above the music. ‘I had believed you cured of thi-‘

Thankfully, at this point Calleniel materialised, intent on a cuddle, and so Thranduil relinquished his wriggling burden. She wandered off with him to watch the archery with her husband. Perhaps the boy would have the good grace to vomit on Eglerion also?

Silence fell between them. The stark branches of the winter-bare trees looked like beckoning hands in the fickle firelight. Elrond could see Legolas shooting in one of the games, and doing well.

‘Legolas’s skill is markedly improved since last I saw,’ he offered.  ‘If he continues at this rate he will be formidable.’

‘I believe so.’ Thranduil said, apparently accepting the truce and with no pretence at anything less than a father’s pride. ‘He trains a cohort of our archers now and is succeeding well enough at managing them that there are calls from within the ranks for him to be raised to a Captain.’

He leant back in his chair, peaceful in a way Elrond had rarely seen before, smile playing about his lips. Was Thranduil really so very ill at ease in Imladris? It was an unpleasant notion, though unfortunately not a new one. Thranduil leant conspiratorially closer. A peace offering, perhaps.  

‘He will deny this for all eternity if you question him, but when he was a very young child Legolas was not especially skilled at archery. He spent most of his time chasing butterflies and crickets or tracking squirrels or singing. Or running into important meetings and getting mud all over my documentation.’ Elrond could well imagine that. ‘But I digress; Alassiel’s eldest teased him so ferociously on one occasion that he disappeared until dusk. We were frantic, as you would imagine, but he had been practicing the entire time. The next day he spent practicing, and the next, until a se’nnight later something changed.’ Thranduil paused and looked across again to where Legolas was pulling the longbow taut, his strong shoulders showing no hint of strain. ‘He was so small, still, that his entire hand, outstretched, only spanned my palm.’ He opened his hand and traced around his palm with a fingertip. ‘But on this day, no longer did I see the grim determination of the first days he practiced. He began to learn, ceased focussing upon the target and instead focussed upon what he was doing with his body to accomplish his aims. By the end of that day, he had fallen in love.’

 ‘That is admirable determination and understanding for a child of that age.’

Thranduil shrugged. ‘Deplorable stubbornness, some would call it.’  

 ‘Well then, he is more like his father than I knew.’

Thranduil raised his eyebrows. ‘Insults, is it? Lest you forget, I know where you are sleeping tonight.’

‘Am I to take that as a threat?’ Elrond asked. Thrandul met his gaze evenly, looking strange and archaic to Elrond, with his hair loose under his woodland crown and the firelight throwing glimmering reflections over his eyes.  Neither noticed Antien plonk down on the chair next to Thranduil’s until he spoke.  

‘Thranduil, do try to think platonic thoughts, wont you?’ he groused irritably, indicating the elves sat on the grass close at hand with a jerk of his chin, never mind the comment he had made with them exactly the same distance away. In response, Thranduil briefly rolled his eyes skyward, though Elrond resisted the urge to do the same.

Instead, he looked once again at the younglings competing, at Legolas, who for all his heart’s losses and his furious determination, was still bright and happy and so very young. He felt a rush of thankfulness that the burden of being heir did not fall to him, for Thranduil’s sake also; he doubted Legolas would grow so quickly into leadership as Thranduil had done. Though, Eru knew, the expectation of following renowned parents was weight enough.

He was interrupted from his macabre contemplations when a small arm shot up beside him, groping at a bowl of mixed nuts. The hand seized some bounty and retracted. He looked down to find a small girl with her cheeks full of nuts; one of the children who had woven the flowers into Thranduil’s hair earlier in the evening. She looked up and froze like a fawn, seemingly noticing the tall, strange elf for the first time.

‘Oh look, Elrond. A wicked squirrel has come to steal treats.’ Thranduil said. She giggled and Elrond lifted the bowl of nuts off the table to hold before her. She apprehended another handful and thanked him through her mouthful. ‘Would you care for some crumble?’ Thranduil asked. She swallowed and fixed her king with a chary stare.

‘Is it rhubarb?’ she replied, as though brokering a deal.

‘Yes.’

‘Mm, yes, please!’ she exclaimed. She was handed her very own bowl and wandered off happily through the crowd.

‘Her mother and I thought,’ Thranduil said, ‘that she would make an excellent cook. Until we realised that she would never have anything left to cook with.’

It was a song he recognised, a song composed in Lindon by the combined refugees of Doriath, Gondolin, Nargothrond, Sirion and elsewhere, a song of solidarity and hopefulness, a song still regularly sung in Imladris. They retired as it ended, leaving the younger elves to dance and game until sunrise; a propitious note to end the evening on, as Thranduil said. It took some time to leave, with farewells and goodnights to those remaining, and a quick, unselfconscious goodnight kiss bestowed between father and son, but a small group of them wandered back through the trees before long. The little squirrel from earlier was dozing in her father’s arms; she surfaced to wave to them, and then fell back into sleep. Away from the fires, Elrond looked up through the canopy as they walked. Had he ever seen the sky so black, and Ithil so crisp against it? Surely he had. When he noticed Thranduil looking at him and raised an eyebrow, Thranduil merely smiled and shook his head.

Elves peeled off along their way and they finally bid goodnight to the last few at the entrance to the Halls, elves wandering their routes away through the bowels of the mountain, or so it seemed to Elrond. In fact, he would later come to realise what a small section of the caves the living quarters actually were.

In Thranduil’s chambers, the lamps and fire were already lit. Glass clinked as Thranduil retrieved a carafe from a cabinet. There were leaf-shaped patterns of light cast around the walls and ceiling of the chamber; searching for the source, he found a bright lamp with a wooden casing that was carved with exquisite detailing. He was handed a glass of brandy.

‘I hope that was not too overwhelming for you.’ Thranduil murmured. An invitation to air any difficulties, he supposed. It was true that he was generally more comfortable with smaller, quieter gatherings.  

‘I have had a lovely evening. Moreover it has been educational; I don’t know that I’ve ever heard so many dialects all in one evening.’

‘Yes, there was a good range of the populace tonight. You were quite an attraction, I believe, even for the most distant of my people; I don’t know that we have seen some of the elves present tonight in decades.’ Thranduil indicated the lamp as Elrond traced one fine detail of an oak leaf. ‘ _Adar_ carved that for me in Lindon. I had replicas made when we relocated here, to the Halls I mean, but this is the original.’

’It is very beautiful. I did not know he had such skill.’ Or such patience.

Thranduil removed his crown and began to pluck the flowers from his hair, the movements smooth and practiced, even without a looking glass. He missed only one small primrose, which Elrond retrieved for him. Perhaps next time, he would remove them all himself; any pretext to handle that aureate hair. They then settled together upon the comfortable settee, and spoke for so long that the fire eventually burned out before they noticed the time passing.

 ‘Will you stay tonight?’ Thranduil asked.

‘If I am welcome.’

 ‘I didn’t like to presume.’

‘Nor I. I am unused to adapting to your life here, rather than the reverse.’ He swirled his brandy. ‘That sounded less egotistical before I voiced it.’

Thranduil shrugged. ‘And yet, accurate. I have been spoilt, really, in not having to consider my own responsibilities when I am with you. I did not realise the extent…’

Thranduil initiated a gentle, shallow kiss, then deeper. His breath tasted like honey and rhubarb under the brandy. Thranduil shifted and his thigh pressed against Elrond’s groin. In response, Elrond slid his hand into Thranduil’s hair, at the nape of his neck and held him still for an intense, possessive kiss, and it didn’t take long before Thranduil’s fingers were snagging in the sash of Elrond’s robes, his breath coming fast and unsteady. With the fire now lifeless it would doubtless soon become chilled in the room. He wondered whether someone would come around in the morning to re-light it. He had best not be here when they arrived. What time should he leave? What clothing should he wear to return to his rooms? It was unlikely he would meet anyone, however… and he must remember to disturb the sheets on his bed when he returned. Thranduil broke the kiss.

“Can whatever concerns you be dealt with on the morrow?” he asked.

Elrond couldn’t help but smile.

‘On reflection, yes it can. Shall we retire?’

In the bedchamber, Elrond set the toe of his boot against the back of his other boot and tried to remove it while still standing but very nearly fell. Perhaps he had imbibed a little more than he had thought. When his robes were finally open, gentle hands removed his circlet and ran through his hair and over his back and his waist. They separated briefly to undress properly  and when they were both bare and shoeless, he smoothed his hands over Thranduil’s chest, circled a thumb over a nipple.

“No.” Thranduil said, and grasped his elbow. “I want to please you this time.” _You always please me,_ Elrond thought. Nevertheless, he allowed Thranduil to encourage him onto the bed and was pressed back against the pillows, kissed breathless. Here, again, a leaf lamp cast it’s restful light across the walls and ceiling in an artificial canopy. He froze as Thranduil curled his hand lightly around his shaft, not tightly enough to really stimulate. Kisses were pressed against his throat, the spot where his neck joined his shoulders, his collarbones. Then lower, sucking kisses to his nipples and the delicate skin of his sides. And all the time, that hand slowly, lightly teasing him. As Thranduil kissed his abdomen, the head of Elrond’s shaft brushed his throat and Elrond moaned deeply, lacing the fingers of Thranduil’s free hand with his own. Thranduil met his eyes, grinned, and stayed where he was for a moment, even his teasing hand held still. He knelt there, all strong, smooth limbs and flawless skin and wicked as the tales of conservative scholars would have had him believe. There was a slick of fluid glimmering on his neck, Elrond noticed, where his member had touched it.

“Thranduil,” he gasped. “Come here.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are rather overbearing at times,” Thranduil replied, but he was moving back up to face him, so Elrond ignored the accusation. He tugged and shifted until he could reach that neck with his mouth, and closed his lips over part of the fluid. After a moment, he slipped his tongue between them and licked, warm and sinuous. Thranduil’s breathing became especially controlled all of a sudden and Elrond smiled against his skin and repeated the movement.

“Oh.” _Ah,_ he thought _there it is again._ Thranduil rocked their groins together and finally stroked him firmly. Elrond curled an arm around his back to hold him close, but Thranduil unexpectedly resisted and moved back down to press his lips to the tip of Elrond’s shaft. Oh, now Elrond had to admit that this was an infinitely better idea than his own. This was splendid. His thoughts continued along a similar line for long, aching moments, as Thranduil moved upon him and a slick digit massaged lower. He fumbled blindly at the bedside table for the jar he knew was there, and when he handed it down Thranduil was already waiting to receive it with hand outstretched. And, Elrond reflected, his mouth still otherwise occupied. By Varda. 

Hands smoothed his thighs, before a fingertip slipped inside him. Thranduil took all of him and swallowed as he breached with his hand and Elrond groaned at the two fronts of desire. _Bring me pleasure, indeed,_ he thought deliriously. When first they lay together, Elrond had used the knowledge of what he himself found satisfying to guide him in pleasing Thranduil, and so Thranduil had known from the start how to make him shudder and convulse, and spill sounds of longing uncounted. His enjoyment was a truth read easily in the quaver of his body, but Thranduil kept testing and altering, trying to draw _more_ from him.

 _‘Mellon nin,’_ he choked, and then a breathless laugh burst forth. ‘Have pity.’                 

Thranduil kissed his thigh tenderly and chuckled. ‘You are ready to proceed, I take it?’

‘More than. Come inside me now, lest I take matters into my own hands…’ All that relentless attention was more than he could bear, his body teetering constantly on the edge of _too much._

Thranduil settled. Pressure. A pause. Elrond raised his legs a little higher.

 Ai, how long had it been? Too long by far since he had felt this. He smoothed his thumbs over the muscles of Thranduil’s arms. After a few breaths, Thranduil sat back, brushed a few wayward strands of hair out of Elrond’s face and thrust with a confident roll of his hips. “Oh, yes,” Elrond sighed, and grasped his arms more tightly, looking up at him. Somehow the very weight of the form between his legs was pleasing; intimate and secure. The reassuring certainty of knowing he was wanted. He could already feel the sensations building within him, sedate swells of pleasure tumbling onto one another, sharpening with each thrust. He pressed his heels to the bed and pushed upwards, arching against the intrusion greedily.

He thought, briefly, of Gil-galad. How wonderful it was to be bedded without his lover already regretting, already trembling in guilt and remorse.  He could simply relax and revel in the pleasure and the lust he felt. And what lust… He gasped repeatedly as whorls of pleasure followed each thrust, spreading inexorably through him as Thranduil slowed to sublime rocking motions; most likely chosen to slow the encroachment of their climax. Nevertheless when Thranduil’s warm, strong hand gripped the juncture of his thigh to his hip, the juxtaposition of that restrained force to the tenderness of their lovemaking sent a jolt through him. Within moments he spent, mouth slack and legs taut, a sharp, wordless sound falling from his lips.

Nerves still humming, he relished the stretch of Thranduil paused fully seated within him. Elrond pressed his hands harder on Thranduil’s back, simultaneously kneading and drawing him closer, and as Thranduil began to rock again, pressed their lips together once more. He drew two fingers lightly up Thranduil’s spine, from his seat up beyond his shoulder blades and, oddly, that simple affectionate gesture was what also seemed to push him over the edge; the next he knew, Thranduil was gasping into his mouth and apparently fighting a losing battle not to simply drop down on top of him. He closed his eyes a moment and concentrated on the satisfaction he felt.

‘I have told you, have I not, what a quick study you are?’ he asked when Thranduil lay beside him.

‘You know you have and as I have said before, I thank you for the flattery and believe there is much to be said for the identity of the teacher. Now what had you so fretful earlier?’

‘Fretful? Such hyperbole, Thranduil. I was merely considering the…logistics of secrecy. What would you recommend?’

Thranduil turned onto his front and rested his head on his crossed arms, his long hair falling over his back.

‘You need not hurry back. You’ll find the corridors quiet for the most part, though it’s not unusual to find people wandering around and visiting at all hours. As for housekeeping, no-one enters a room to or within personal chambers unless the door is left ajar. Much like Imladris.’

‘I may leave a change of clothes here in future. It seems to work well for us there.’

‘Yes. I imagine it unlikely that you will meet anyone but you had best borrow something of mine later.’

‘And your dear elder cousin? What if he should become suspicious about my late night sojourns, hm?’

Thranduil made a noise of lazy exasperation. ‘We can deal with that if the situation arises. He may not approve but how we spend our time has very little to do with him.’

‘Out of interest, is there a particular reason for his disapproval of even our friendship? Or is it simply all of the usual reasons.’

‘The usual and a few more; he believes you to be very persuasive.’ Thranduil ran the backs of two fingers down his arm, slow and contemplative. ‘So influential, in fact, that you will sway me into lessening our autonomy.’

Thranduil held his gaze until he had to look away at the ceiling.  

‘You know I would not grieve to see you lessen your isolation. I also appreciate your perspective.’

‘Do you, indeed?’

‘And your counter argument when he expresses this belief?’

Thranduil’s smile turned wicked.

‘That amity between us enables me to gain the information we need, and will continue to need, without sacrificing our seclusion from Exilic influence. That you are a liaison and a convenient inroad to our allies without my needing to dirty my own hands.’

‘I see.  So you allow me to expend time, resources and effort to collect intelligence and then skim the knowledge you require off the top? What do you purport to offer me in return for such a service?’

‘Very little, unless war breaks out once more. Which is where my argument fails and our discussion usually devolves into insults.’

‘Facetiousness suits you so well, even if I do not believe a word of that. Are you so strategic with all your friendships?’

‘It is not so much that I am strategic. Thinking thus simply helps me to…justify the risks I take. It is not…’

‘You feel you must justify friendship?’

‘No. Elrond…I knew what it meant when I made my promise to these people.’

Promises. Pledges and vows. How Elrond loathed them at times. So many lives he had seen blighted by them.

‘Will you allow this one choice to dictate your eternity?’

‘No, but how could I indulge personal desires if they should come at the expense of my people’s security?’

For the love of Eru, they did not come at such an expense! He knew, however, that he would make no headway on that count.

 ‘And so, from a more overarching perspective, everything you do must fit this narrative you have created?’

‘What? Would you please cease analysing me? You have only lately arrived and already I feel as though you have me under a magnifying glass.’

‘It was Daeron, was it not, who said that the life unexamined is not worth living?’

Thranduil turned onto his side and stared at him. ‘Do not quote at me and assume that doing so is irrefutable substantiation.’

‘I-‘

If he relinquished the sentence under an exasperated kiss and Thranduil’s coaxing hands, well…it was only polite, after all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI
> 
> Almeldir - Thranduil's Second in Command in battle when Oropher fell. Now his steward, though still heavily involved in military matters. 
> 
> Calleniel and Eglerion: Married. Eglerion is Oropher's cousin by marriage on his mother's side, Calleniel is the woman who decided she wanted him for her own. 
> 
> Antien: One of Thranduil's oldest friends. 
> 
> Alassiel: Thranduil's cousin
> 
> Nostalion: Thranduil's cousin
> 
> Thalaeron: One of Elrond's advisers. Originally one of Cirdan's people. 
> 
> I read somewhere that before anyone writes well, they write an awful lot of terrible writing. I repeat this to myself in hushed tones as I post this ;) To be honest, this is partly an exercise to improve so hey ho.  
> Do let me know of any errors and I'll fix them. (Though I did that before and I think pushed the story up the listing without actually having updated-sorry!)


	4. Chapter 4

He dreamed of Forlindon and the tranquil sand dunes at grey dawn. The sound of a Western wind in the Marram grass.  There was symmetry and process to it; the waving laurel green of the grasses on the hills tricked the eyes, creating an echo of the waves that had once borne the sediment upon the shore and created through the process of succession those very hills. Within his reverie, he walked the dunes alone for _yeni._     

The family broke their fast late in acknowledgement of the evening’s revels, a fact Elrond was appreciative of; the light of dawn had been filtering into Thranduil’s chambers by the time he had left, and after so long spent amongst others the few hours of peace were welcome. It transpired that Legolas, in true Umanyar fashion, had not rested at all.

‘I hope that you do not expect to be granted respite at Gathering this afternoon,’ Thranduil chided mildly, pouring his son a large mug of tea. Legolas took it with thanks, and a grin.

‘Ada, you know that most of those present will have done the same.’

‘I do know that,’ and without needing to glance at him, Thranduil held up his hand in Antien’s direction, pre-empting a comment, ‘and I acknowledge also that I will do so from time to time.’ Antien subsided temporarily. ‘Yet I would remind you of your youth.’

Talk turned then to reminiscences, and he even shared some of his own recollections, though the few stories of youthful abandon with Elros were distinctly less abandoned than those of the others.

‘It is strange to think that you have always been so…dignified,’ Thranduil said.

He turned to Thranduil with an eyebrow raised, prepared to take up the gauntlet.

‘I don’t suppose you had much choice,’ Legolas blurted, before he froze and glanced at his father.  The smiles around the table faded, and Nostalion made to negotiate a swift change of subject, but Elrond pre-empted him.

‘To some extent, you are right; both Elros and I were always under close scrutiny of one form or another. We were not alone in this.’ As he spoke, he buttered his slice of hearty Greenwood bread. ‘A parent’s love is so absolute, and so evident to their child. But when children are reliant upon other caregivers, it becomes much more difficult for them to be confident in their position. Losing that unconditional devotion is difficult, and a blow most are ignorant of until it occurs, though of course _how_ they respond will vary a great deal. Our situation was not so different from that of so many.’

‘Which is why,’ Thranduil said, ‘if truth be told it gladdens me that you are as mischievous as you are, my son. I would rather see you insolent than over sombre.’

He spent the rest of the morning peaceably, and in view of the spring rain exploring the library with Thalaeron, investigating its surprising number and range of books and scrolls. It was early afternoon before an informal discussion with his advisors in his little private sitting room was interrupted by Legolas. Gratifyingly comfortable with them after their short journey through the wood together, he stood leaning against the door frame in an unconscious mimicry of Thranduil as he bid them hello.  

‘Is it that time already?’ Elrond said, and walked beside him once more through the warren.  After watching his young guide he said, ‘You seem less fatigued than earlier. ‘

‘I slept after breakfast until noon,’ Legolas admitted, ‘Do not tell _Adar,_ will you? _’_

‘Of course not.’ They passed out of the gates, into brittle sunlight. ‘This Gathering takes place in the forest?’

‘It does, yes.’ Legolas was brushing his fingertips through the needle like leaves of those few coniferous trees they passed, releasing little cascades of droplets from the sodden foliage.  ‘In winter it’s necessary to conduct all court business in the stronghold but as soon as possible this at least is removed outside. It’s perfectly secure; all the guards are highly trusted.’ He looked speculative for a moment. ‘Have you seen a willow dome before?’

Ah, youth. ‘Yes, I have.’

 ‘Of course.’ His eyes flickered away, but he continued.  ‘The winter was so bitter this year that we thought we might have to meet in the stronghold. It would be the first time the spring Gathering was held inside since before I was born.’

‘You know, I have heard reports from all kindreds, all across the North and as far south as Gonder, which say the same. We believe it may have been the most severe season in a thousand years or more.’

Legolas nodded as though this confirmed something for him. ‘We suspected the effects might have been across other lands also. We couldn’t know, of course, until passage became safe once more but we had word from Lothlorien not long ago, relaying their difficulties and asking after us all. It seems cousin Celeborn was concerned, considering their own troubles even so much further south.’

‘I imagine he was.’ In truth, Celeborn and Galadriel had relayed their fears in their latest missive to him, but he assumed that Thranduil’s return message would have reached them by now. ‘When did the king reply?’

‘Before I came to meet you, so their concerns should be now allayed.’

Elrond nodded. ‘Celeborn does love you all very much. I know that may not always be clear, but you should never doubt it.’

‘I know. We all know.’ He looked contemplative. Elrond recognised the look of a child about to ask a question or make a comment they knew they should not, but chancing their hand nevertheless. ‘I would expect that Lady Galadriel is less overwhelmed by a deep winter.’

‘You may be correct. Aman of course suffers no winter to speak of, but the Helcaraxe would have been a firm lesson. You must remember, though, that each person will react very differently to the same event, and that both Celeborn and your father have seen their home fall in winter, and their people suffer in consequence.’

Legolas simply nodded.‘I wonder if it is why _Adar_ so dislikes the cold.’

‘Perhaps you are right.’

When they arrived, he was forced to rethink his earlier statement; he was quite familiar with willow domes, but this was far from so simple a structure. It was a vast space, a living hall bounded by willow tree pillars which stretched between each other to form stylised arches and, above, a sturdy roof. 

‘Well, I withdraw what I said earlier; I have never seen the like of this marvel before. Oh, Legolas? He will know. We fathers _always_ know.’ He winked, before returning to seriousness as they entered.

Inside, Thranduil reclined in a chair composed of the trunk of yet another tree, which rose above him to meet its fellows in the roof. There were a few other similar seats, but other living benches also, and one or two of stone. In places, three willow trees had been grown from the ground together, guided apart at waist height, and allowed to grow back again once more, and in the wide space that opened between the trunks a circular pane of glass formed a tabletop. Near fifty elves were seated there; village leaders, or specific advisors with specialist knowledge, and even he could begin to recognise some of the different clans. He could see the appeal, but it was such a peculiar form of governance. He was welcomed and guided to a seat within the circle. It was sturdier than he expected, and he thought he could just hear the tree welcoming him. 

‘Your son asked me earlier whether I had ever seen a willow dome. In my naivety I replied that I had.’ A riffle of laughter passed through most of the assembly.

‘Have you been shown the walkways?’ a smiling _elleth_ asked him, the fine tooling on her doeskin tunic mimicking the leaves around them. ‘This is handsome, but they are extraordinary in places.’

‘My modesty!’ exclaimed an elf across from him, the jolly elf from the night before in fact, who had assured Elrond that he need not remember their names.

‘Lainor is particularly skilled in living architecture.’ Thrandul said. ‘So we flatter him, for the sake of keeping our more complex structures safe.’

‘What Thranduil means,’ Lainor said, ‘is that he harasses me, on behalf of all these others here present, into travelling all over the realm to verify the work of others.’

‘Everyone has their own particular skills ,’ Thranduil said mildly. ‘Would your village like to resume tanning your own leather again?’ he asked, before his eyes flicked across to the _elleth_ in doeskin. She laughed and looked enquiringly to Lainor.

‘Game and match to Caun Thranduil,’ he conceded, ‘Well shot’.

‘As you can see, Elrond.’ Thranduil said. ‘We take our roles here very seriously.’

The levity quickly dispersed as they exchanged news and there was a prickle of tension when discussions turned to the Witch King, a heightened alertness that Thranduil did not dispel quite quickly enough. They had their own news also: there came word from a travelling Avari tribe in the North of restless cold-drakes in the _Ered Mithrin,_ the Eotheod’s numbers were swelled by the dispossessed woodsmen of the southern wood, and Ondoher’s forts in the Undeeps were standing firm against the Wainriders, though this last he already knew. It was strange, how little they really knew about the Men who resided so close, especially considering their exceptional memory for those matters which interested them. Though, even he sometimes wearied of the constant march of change- mortals died so fast, legacies turned to dust, scattered and almost worthless- then suddenly Elrond would realise how far behind he had slipped, and struggle to catch up.

The dwarves were almost as fragmented; what now of the proud line of Durin? Though, he knew better than to discuss that in great depth here. As it happened, it was brought up by others, for much as they were distrusted it appeared that travel and trade would be safer in the East soon, if whatever was awoken in _Hadhodrond_ remained where it was; let the pillaging Wainriders test themselves against the greedy _naugrim_ in their newly founded _Erebor,_ and there would be vengeance heaped upon them.

And Gundabad. Angmar may have fallen, but the threat from his Orcs remained.  Gundabad, a name which still wrought in him an anger he had never felt before, a fury he struggled to defuse. He couldn’t countenance a strike motivated by revenge, not a campaign so doomed to failure. But it held some power over the dwarrows, some past which set in their hearts a burning fire at its defilement. Perhaps if the dwarrows grew strong they would attempt of their own accord to cleanse Mount Gundabad. Perhaps, if they succeeded, even his vengeful sons might be satisfied and find enough peace to come home again for long enough that the sound of their feet would once more fade into the background.

There were easier discussions after these; the course of his visit, various plans of tours and events, including a trip to the silk makers - though not, he noticed, to be headed by Alassiel.

He returned to the stronghold just as the sun was throwing shades of fuchsia onto the gathering clouds but it was long past dusk when Thranduil returned and joined the family for the evening. Elrond was pleased to see him; he was fast losing a complex card game he had been introduced to mere hours earlier, and immediately appropriated Thranduil as an ally. Nostalion, as it turned out, was an accomplished player of the gittern, and he sang and played for them, with various people accompanying him and at one point the whole group joining in a chorus. After the previous night, however, it appeared that a more restful evening was in order; soon everyone began to peel off to bed.

Nostalion paused in the doorway. 'Antien?'

He looked across from this seat beside Thranduil. 'Can it not be done tomorrow?'

'I’d rather get it done now, to be honest, and out of the way.'

Antien's lips thinned. 'As you say.' He nodded to Elrond as his bid him goodnight and clapped a hand on Thranduil's shoulder. ‘Sleep well, dear friend.’ 

That left the two of them alone, and gave him the opportunity to confirm a suspicion which had lingered and grown stronger. Thranduil appeared thoughtful, still sat by the abandoned card game and staring into the fire. 

‘Eglerion’s concerns are not unusual are they?’

Thranduil roused himself, seemingly with effort. ‘No. As I understand it, there are those who fear that I forget the past. Who fear that I am losing myself.’

‘It is my belief that we all must shed our skin from time to time. We can only grow if we can begin to forget the person we once were.’

Thranduil’s smile was wan. He didn’t like it. ‘Do not repeat that to Eglerion. He would take it ill,’ he said, only half in jest.

‘Would I be so imprudent?’

‘I know you would not. I know of what you speak. You may not know it but in Doriath we had a fair swathe of culture which discussed ‘letting go’. There are so many songs, one begins to feel sick of them. But there is an awful lot to let go _of._ And _not_ doing so is precisely what has protected us in the past.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘What use are our past sorrows, if not to learn from them? At council today…whatever their opinions, they all had such utter faith that whatever I did, however misguided in their minds, was all for them. And thus it must be so. You know this bond yourself.’

Not quite so; he had sworn no vow, unlike Thranduil. There was silence for a moment before Thranduil spoke again.

‘How do your council take this visit?’ he asked.

‘Opinions appear positive or indifferent, largely.’ At worst, it was considered a pointless indulgence, something vaguely to be scorned. If Thranduil would but be more open, that scorn would lessen and the worth of these woodelves could be seen more clearly.

‘Forgive me, I am ill tempered this eve. The elves in the _Ered Mithrin_ are the tribe Aeluin is travelling with.’

‘The elves who reported to you about these cold-drakes?’

‘The very same. I had not told Legolas about the drakes; he found out today at the Gathering and is displeased at the deception.’

He considered and discarded numerous questions before settling on the most important, if not the most politic.

‘Does he usually find her travelling difficult?’

‘He is reasonably inured to her absence, but as far as he has known she has never been in danger before. She will have some excellent stories to tell when she returns, I’m sure, but in the meantime my boy is quietly fretting.’ He glanced at Elrond before murmuring, ‘Which has me fretting.’

‘That often seems to be the way of it with parents. You’re confident of her safety?’

‘She’s very wily,’ he divulged, a small private smile on his lips. ‘I sent her a missive when the winter first bit to ask whether they needed anything. She asked me to stop fussing.’

Even so, and even knowing their situation, he couldn’t help but wonder how on earth Thranduil could condone it. Though perhaps his own particular experience…

Perhaps it was the route of conversation, or perhaps the realities of their responsibilities had been brought home to them, or something else altogether; whatever the cause, they bid each other good night as platonic friends that eve.

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

Thranduil snagged some dried pear from the remains of breakfast and stretched luxuriantly as he stood from the table. It took Elrond more concentration than it should have done to keep himself from swelling at the sight, but they were expected elsewhere. Near a se’ennight he had now been here, and he had not shared Thranduil’s bed since the day he arrived, and it would not have been so difficult if it were not for the fact that Thranduil so clearly also wished for intimacy. It was not as though they had a lack of time, though much of that had been taken up with meetings, or receptions, or visits. As they entered an open section of corridor there was a glimmer far below the path, where a shaft of sunlight scattered on a more quiescent stretch of the mineral rich river below, before it plunged once more into white water. Thranduil paused and glanced down, tilting his head in that way of his, and tapping his nails idly on the stone pillar he stood beside. His curiosity apparently satisfied, they carried on. Elrond mused that even when they found themselves with time to spare, something inevitably cropped up. The tendency, of course, for the extended family to spend the evening after dinner together, often with friends, meant that their absence would be unusual if repeated often. They had, however, done so last eve, only for Antien to arrive with a query for the king. It was fortunate that he had not arrived just a few minutes later.

Was there a past between he and Thranduil where friendship had been overtaken by some deeper feeling? If there had, it might in part explain the impression he had that he was… not unwelcome, but discordant in the space of the family. He attempted to prompt Thranduil subtly, but in the end, as they entered a more private corridor, he asked outright. Thranduil stopped walking.

‘What? No, we… No.’

‘Of course. It merely occurred to me.’

‘Oh? Is there reason for the notion to occur to you, or is the culprit a vivid imagination at work?’

‘Reason enough through his behaviour; if there are toes to be trodden on, I feel I should know, _mellon nin._ Preferably before I trample all over them.’

It was inexplicably reassuring to see Thranduil looking so bemused.

‘That’s fair,’ he said, with a quick glance behind him up the corridor. ‘We cannot discuss this here.’ It was true; even if they weren’t heard, being seen in intense conversation was inadvisable. Be that as it may, this conveniently paved the route for it never being discussed at all. Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Thranduil sighed in exasperation and, with a final glance along the corridor, steered him hastily to an un-prepossessing door, opened it and gestured inside.

“A storage cupboard?” he questioned.

“We could search out a room suitable for a conference if you prefer? Traipse through my halls as though preparing for battle?”

That last comment was a little extreme. He, at least, had no intention of beginning a quarrel. Better, Elrond thought somewhat uncharacteristically, simply to get on with it. It would withhold the opportunity for Thranduil to plan what he was going to say.

The door closed behind them, the leanest sliver of light intruding from the corridor. The room smelt of tallow. Elrond tried focusing on where he expected Thranduil’s face to be, only to have his voice begin slightly to the right of him.

‘Now explain why you have had cause to consider this.’

He did so, allowing that he could very well be mistaken.

“No, it _is_ a little unusual, now that I consider it. Though, we do spend time together ordinarily and he has never dealt well with change. He may be unaware.

‘Yes, I may be simply reading too much into his behaviour. Likely, if it is anything, he is protective of a dear friend. It appears, though, from how he acts, as though you have lain together in the past.’

‘I would not say lain.’ Thranduil said slowly. ‘In times past, we would share a bed on occasion, as youngsters will, and speak late into the night of all manner of things. One evening in Lindon, talk turned to a new experience he had encountered, and he opted to show me. It was enjoyable, on both our parts, but afterwards we simply moved onwards and have never touched or kissed thus since, nor desired to.’

“I see. Well, perhaps a resonance of that intimacy is what is misleading me. I do not mean to pry. It’s of no import, of course. I merely thought it might have explained his diffidence.’

‘Naturally, though you may be reassured that a previous involvement is not the reason. I see your point though; perhaps his behaviour _is_ intended, even if he himself does not realise it. Damned if I know why. He’s in favour generally of less isolation, so he should welcome you from a political point of view… Granted, we have been close since Sirion; he had no family at all. I suspect he fears to lose my companionship, with so few friends remaining.’

‘That may be so. It sounds as though you formed a close bond after the Fall. I would never wish to sour your friendship, particularly one founded on such understanding.’

‘You say that but it is unfortunate that I do not understand him well enough to divine his reservations now.’

There was a vague fumbling in the dark, and a dull clunk where there should have been the click of the door opening. This was followed by a quiet, vehement curse.

“Thranduil?” he ventured. He could vaguely see the outline of Thranduil leaning with his forehead to the door.

“I requested that she repair this handle over a month ago,” he replied softly.

“Who?” 

“Luinen.” Ah, yes. Dear Luinen; loyal to a fault, an excellent craftswoman…and somewhat absent minded. 

“You did not think to check?” he enquired, reaching for the handle himself. He found it and tried manipulating it for a moment. It seemed that the knob was attached poorly and slipped, but the dowel lacked enough purchase to grasp tightly enough to turn the mechanism. A conundrum. “How did you discover that it required repair in any case? You make a habit, I take it, of holding discussions in storage cupboards.”

“How remarkable that you should ask. I did indeed have to use it thus but there appears to be a pattern forming so perhaps I ought to avoid this route in future.” Thranduil sounded very poised, the beautiful Doriathrin inflection even sharper than normal. Elrond brought his hand up to his tense back, fingers catching on the rich cloth, before gingerly resting it somewhere between his shoulder blades. He felt a long exhale. After a few moments, Thranduil called out a resigned hail. Nothing. Again. Naught but silence.

“Elrond, perhaps whilst we wait you might utilise your literary inclinations to concoct a plausible explanation for this?”

“Regretfully, I must concede that I do not believe one exists.”

“What is most galling is that we were not even doing what it will undoubtedly be assumed we have been doing.”

“We could always do so, if that would mollify?” Indeed, he had been curiously _aware_ of Thranduil this whole time; where his hip and thigh touched Thranduil’s, the warmth under his hand and the soft fall of hair over the back of it. He thought briefly of how Thranduil’s legs looked in what he was wearing, which inevitably led his mind to consider the feel of them around his waist, of the encouraging nudge of a heel at the small of his back.

Thranduil called out again half-heartedly. They didn’t dare continue, yet Elrond allowed himself to step closer behind and lift Thranduil’s hair to place a kiss at his nape, all by touch. A foretaste, Elrond told himself. Of pleasures to be had later. Yet, as he was there, he kissed along the hairline. The smell of tallow was replaced by the scent of spring forests in sunlight. He drew a hand across those strong shoulders, down an arm and curled his fingers around Thranduil’s wrist, to feel the quickening pulse against his fingertips.

  _Click._

He let go and jerked back as the handle turned from the other side. Unfortunately, Thranduil had also reflexively thrown himself forwards and, as a consequence, very nearly head butted his unsuspecting son, who had simply heard him calling and opened the door as any good son would. They stood in tableau for a moment, before a hastily quashed and mildly hysterical truncated laugh came from Legolas. He pressed his lips together hastily in its wake. Eventually, Thranduil spoke.

“Thank the Belain you heard me,” he said. “I had visions of Eglerion or one of the village leaders coming across us.” Having had visions of quite a different sort, Elrond remained silent.

Legolas finally allowed himself to smirk. “I finished early with my victims. They have a scouting exercise this afternoon.”

“I see. Most fortunate.” They stood in silence a moment longer. “Not a word, my son.”

“I know, Ada. Reprisal and recompense and so forth.” He nodded respectfully in Elrond’s direction. “I should be departing.” He excused himself and they watched him leave with as much dignity as they could muster.

“Your son being the one to liberate us is simultaneously the best and the most dreadful possible resolution,” Elrond mused.

They reached the library without further incident and he was introduced to a delightful scholar by the name of Nileth, who led them into an antechamber where Almeldir and Thalaeron were waiting. There was a great wooden table in the middle of the room, which was lined at the walls with labelled cabinets. The cabinets were mostly made with an angled lid which had a lip at the bottom; they could thus double as standing desks. Across the room there stood an armoire full of everything a cartographer could desire; quills, inks, brushes, implements for tooling and for stitching, measuring tongs, rulers, compasses of both kinds, numerous paperweights, a battered abacus, stacks of parchment and yet more things tucked away. He vaguely heard a discussion conducted behind him, and Nileth say, ‘…as you’re both here…’ and Thranduil’s answer in the affirmative.

‘Elrond? Would you object if we were to leave you both a moment? We would not be long.’

‘I’m sure we can entertain ourselves for a short while,’ he replied.

The walls were covered with maps as well; all varying in scale and subject. Some old, some appearing ancient or some that were clearly reproductions from memory. Many were of Greenwood and these were the most interesting, particularly when they found a cabinet labelled ‘Miscellaneous-Greenwood, detailed’. Their uses were practical rather than academic; in many, the user of these would navigate by watercourses and valleys, but also by great old trees and favourite gathering places. Features of interest were those which were necessary to know for travel; river cliffs and crossing points. In places, they had been altered- one scrawl read _‘Impassable without rope some fool broke connecting bough’_.   Some were roughly sketched and others exquisitely painted, and all by different hands. He recognised Thranduil’s own hand on one or two.

Some held personal methods of directions, even one where the cartographer had noted the place of…his child’s conception as a waypoint. Often, they were exquisitely detailed and local. On these, he noticed a tendency to note plentiful sources of favoured foods. Several had noted a particular site as being an excellent spot for salmon in season. The animals and plants in some were rendered in exquisite detail and colour, or looked somewhat comical in others. He chuckled aloud to see a particularly disgruntled looking trout being dangled at the tail by a disembodied hand and pointed it out to Thalaeron. He was having a closer look at a superbly rendered image of an Egret when Thranduil spoke from behind them.

“Ah, I wondered when you would find those. Fascinating, are they not?”

They had brought their own maps, with alterations in the West that Greenwood would doubtless need to know of. Perhaps he was thinking fancifully, but the speed of small adjustments seemed ever increasing. The dreams and aspirations of mortals came and went, whether achieved or not, and were ever ephemeral. It was rarely very long before almost every trace that they had ever existed was subsumed.

They spent a very enjoyable day altering and comparing, and he secured some time with Nileth to truly explore the collection.

‘And you must come and find me if ever you wish to know more,’ she said, ‘or need a map of any sort’. In fact, she had many maps of the stronghold and explained the layout to him, which was very helpful. As she was putting those away, Thranduil said, ‘I’ll keep this one for the time being actually. Could I trouble you to bring me the other iterations of this later today?’

‘I’ll have them to you by the evening meal. Is there anything I can help with?’ She looked curious. He supposed Thranduil wouldn’t usually bother to take them away but would instead simply discuss them with her, but Almeldir caught his eye by accident before flicking away and looking very unconcerned. He wasn’t blind; he could see how difficult Thranduil was finding it to reconcile his being here with even his currently limited responsibilities.

Later, without even having to design it so, they were in Thranduil’s sitting room alone. He noticed once again how Thranduil’s swords were beside the door, so near at hand. Where had Elrond left his own weapon? He had to remind himself. Nileth had brought the requested maps a few moments ago and he watched Thranduil put them aside.

‘Will you not speak with me about what concerns you? I know I have made mistakes in the past, as we all have, but I am _trying._ I know better now and perhaps I can help. We are allies, are we not?’

Thranduil rolled his eyes. ‘You just have to know everything, don’t you? It’s nothing to be concerned about; they’re plans of the stronghold. I want to have a team check where the water exits the caves for obstructions, and the bottleneck channels for debris. The water is higher than I would expect even with all this rain.’

‘I see. I apologise, I should not pry. And there was I declaring that I have learnt my lesson and know better now.’

‘You will never learn to keep your nose out of other people’s business.’ Thranduil said, and kissed him. ‘It is not in your nature.’

After the wait, he couldn’t seem to remove Thranduil’s clothing fast enough, and in minutes they were in Thranduil’s chamber and Thranduil was pulling him down onto the bed with him. Almost immediately, Thranduil passed him the jar of grease from the bedside drawer and moved to his hands and knees. Elrond chuckled into the skin of his shoulder.

‘You know what you like.’

‘I do. I also believe it’s mutual?’

‘Oh, yes.’

He kissed him again, at the back of his neck this time, as he slipped a finger into his body and then another; a completion of that morning’s promise in the storeroom. He ran his spare hand from his hips up the strong back and returned, pressing the heel of his hand into the muscles and soothing as his other hand made bold strokes inside.

‘Ready?’

At Thranduil’s nod he removed his fingers and took hold of his hips instead as he eased inside. When he began to thrust slow and deep, he resumed the earlier massage and was rewarded with a luxurious sigh. And with Thranduil rocking backwards to aid his pushes, he could concentrate on gripping and kneading. He had been so desirous of this but now he wanted to lengthen it, to let pleasure build within them both until they were brimming with sensation and the end was inescapable. As it happened, after a few minutes Thranduil pushed back swiftly and uttered a ragged gasp. Elrond groaned and returned the gesture, pleasure washing through him and instinct taking over for a time. Yet it always felt so alone to climax in this position… With effort, he withdrew.

‘I want to see you,’ he gasped.

With an irritated sound, Thranduil obliged and turned to lie on his back, his legs high at Elrond’s waist as he slid back inside with a moan. Within a dozen long thrusts Elrond spent himself, a se’ennight of foiled desire propelling him. Pushing through his daze, he wrapped his own hand over Thranduil’s and shortly had him spilling over their fists, the tightening of his body pushing Elrond’s sensitive half-hard shaft from him.   

He lay down beside him a revelled in the aftermath, pleasure still sparking along his nerves. He looked across at Thranduil, who was almost dozing and had one arm flung above his head and his golden hair in disarray. After a few quiet minutes Elrond cleaned the worst of the mess on his belly, appropriated Thranduil’s dressing robe, and retrieved a jug of cool water from the sitting room. He came back to the bedchamber to find Thranduil idly smoothing seed into his skin, eyes unfocused. Elrond somehow managed to fill a glass with water and drain it without looking away from Thranduil’s fingers. He set the glass back down on the side table and mounted the bed,  grasping Thranduil’s knee and guiding his legs apart, following into the space created and relishing the shiver in Thranduil’s limbs as he pressed an open mouthed kiss to his belly. Some of his seed had trickled down his side; Elrond followed it with his tongue. He traced a leisurely path upwards, before closing with a final deep kiss to Thranduils lips, and sitting back on his heels.

‘What are you pondering?’ he enquired, hands still caressing Thranduil’s legs and feeling his own shaft, still mostly hard, twitch as Thranduil apparently enjoyed the view.

‘This,’ Thranduil said, taking him in hand in a business-like fashion. ‘I was speculating as to whether this might be to blame for my enjoyment of that particular act.’ He tried and pointedly failed to touch finger to thumb around his girth. He was holding with the perfect pressure, now if he would but close his hand…Ai, yes, _perfect._

‘And here I was congratulating myself on my skill.’

‘Have I offended you?’ he stroked firmly.

‘Do that again, and all is forgiven,’ he exhaled deeply as Thranduil complied. ‘I believe it has more to do with inherent sensitivity; I have always found that touch of this sort pleases me more. Just as you find this,’ he circled Thranduil’s nipple with his thumb, ‘less satisfying than I do.’

Thranduil mirrored the gesture on Elrond and, predictably, he hissed at the sensation. ‘You speculate that I am merely more sensitive to having you inside me?’

‘Mm, possibly. It’s natural to crave new sensation-‘

‘It is hardly a new sensation; you have seen to that.’

‘You haven’t complained thus far.’

‘I suppose you _have_ made it worth my while.’

He laughed softly. ‘I hope so. It is a _relatively_ new sensation. I felt similarly for a time, which was helpful actually because Gil-galad’s preferences were always similar to my own.’

‘You preferred the same? That must have become frustrating.’ 

‘It…well, it could be… at times, but I still enjoy the other, just as you do the reverse. Am I making _any_ sense?’

Thranduil smirked up at him. ‘Some. I can think of better uses for your mouth.’

He laughed. ‘Is that so? How subtle of you. Well perhaps with you distracting me I ought to do something useful with it.’

Nevertheless, he ran his hands firmly up Thranduil’s thighs until he reached the junction with his hips, where he held his hands splayed wide, and put his mouth to the mentioned use without further ado. He quite enjoyed doing this, particularly feeling so elementally how he was affecting his partner.

He took the little remaining seed from Thranduil’s belly and smeared it on the head of his own cock, then moving back up Thranduil’s body and into him in one smooth movement. Face to face, he could see Thranduil properly now, and heard him mutter ‘ _Rodyn’_ under his breath.He began a languid rhythm, which Thranduil appeared as content to savour.

As Elrond had often found, when Thranduil spilt for the second time it was almost like a cup had merely brimmed over, his hands gripping Elrond’s biceps as though to anchor himself. When a few few minutes later, Thranduil climaxed again, just gently this time, the sight, and the soft, deep guttural sound that fell from his lips was enough to bring Elrond’s own end nigh. It occurred to him that with Elrond having spent a week of desire without satisfaction, he doubted Thranduil would appreciate him spilling inside him a second time and he quickly pulled back and as he withdrew the press of muscle around his cockhead pushed him into climax. Gasping, he emptied himself onto Thranduil’s thigh. Looking at the volume of it, he decided that he had made a good decision.

‘Much appreciated.’ Thranduil muttered, and he chuckled and kissed him on the cheek in response.

‘Enough that we may indulge again in a short while?’

Though Thranduil hmmed and muttered about the perils of ‘pushing one’s luck’, he wasn’t fooled.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick belated THANK YOU! to everyone who has given kudos or written a comment-it's so incredibly encouraging. I hope this is worth the wait. As ever, feedback, including criticism, is very very welcome. 
> 
> Because I'm lazy, have some info on Aeluin. I wrote lots more but it was getting ridiculous. 
> 
> Aeluin (short version, Legolas' mum) is a loremistress after the Nandorin fashion, by which I mean to say with a much greater emphasis on songs and performance than the other kindreds, even Sindarin. (Yes, Thranduil has a type) She was a village leader herself for some time, though she relinquished her role for a while (after a very long think) because she decided she wanted to start this new adventure with Thranduil. They're now in the 'late autumn' of their relationship, something they recognise, and she's a rolling stone. 
> 
> Yen(pl.Yeni): An elven 'year' I guess- 144 years. 
> 
> Elleth: elf woman
> 
> Ered Mithrin: Grey mountains
> 
> Rodyn is a Sindarin term for 'Powers'


	5. Deluge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change of tack

The crest of the hill fell as a river cliff to the rushing water far below, carved by millennia of the river’s changing course. Thranduil had certainly chosen an exceptional place to watch the dawn. The sun had barely risen and the forest was lit at the tree tips, with lingering shadows that stretched far greater lengths than the trees themselves. All things that were touched by the sunshine glimmered with the crystals of a light frost left by the chill night and the land smelt of good, clean soil and leaf fall, and the damp green of morning in early spring. The sounds of the Wood seemed amplified, so that he felt he could hear every bird that was singing within a league, and every leaf that was rustled by an eddy of wind.

When Elrond had first arrived in the East, snowdrops still peeked above the soil, but early spring’s coy, pale portents were soon bolstered by lush foliage, and the clarity of stark winter beauty was overtaken by the riotous growth of a true forest spring as it came tumbling through the Wood. A few blooms began at first, their nearly forgotten colour bursting against their backdrop, all the more striking for their scarcity. No part was untouched; nary a day went by but anticipation came to bloom. One scarce had time to see and appreciate the beauty of some glade before it had changed anew.

He had spent long enough recently within stone halls, beautiful and comfortable as they may be; the coming of spring had heralded rain, and ample volumes of it. This last night had been chill, but lately most had been unseasonably mild after the cold winter.

 Thranduil set a route back through the capital, crossing a living bridge at the base of the steep valley along the way; these were as impressive as he had been led to believe, with branches twining and growing together across the swift river. The settlement was still quiet for now, with only a few elves up and about, or alternatively returning to their homes, but by noon, these canopies and the cottages on the ground would be as busy as a woodelven settlement became; this was the setting for the largest market in the realm.

They passed by the baker’s cottage and kitchen so that they might collect the bread due for the family that morning. The bakers were understandably pleased to have one less trip to make, and before Elrond knew it he had been handed a small fruited bun while they waited for the order to be packed for them.

Thranduil broke his bun in two. ‘Hazelnut flour?’

‘With dried apricot. A new recipe.’ She chivvied her helper good-naturedly. ‘Get on with you, do not keep them waiting when they have been kind enough as to save you a journey.’

‘Alassiel will like these very much, I expect. Have you baked enough today to send some with us and put them in the ledger?’

 ‘No, no, I’ll put a few in your pack to take back without all that nonsense. Just let me know how you like them. I wonder if they may be a little too dense?’

Thranduil took another bite. ‘I don’t agree,’ he said. ‘With this robustness they are perfect for breaking a fast or for taking on a journey. ’

Elrond agreed and said so. They  _were_  a little dense for his liking, but then he usually took his breakfast at table with cutlery, unlike Thranduil who seemed to have started to take on the Silvan attitude to daytime meals, for breakfast at least. Still, they were yet a Sindarin family overall and it seemed they still usually sat down together in the morning. The baker seemed satisfied, and returned to her kneading.

‘I’m told that many folk plan to dance in the Hall tonight, so we may see you then,’ she said. ‘My daughter is shooting for another dance with your Legolas.’ 

‘Oh?’

‘She says he has an excellent hold.’

The three shared a smile for youthful exuberance, and belief in their own mystery, before schooling themselves as the lady in question returned with their bread.   

Back at the stronghold, they had barely sat down when Almeldir entered. He did the usual round of ‘Good Morning’s and took one of the buns they had unwrapped, before saying to Thranduil, ‘They’re here.’

‘We’ll meet them in the council chamber in a moment. Nostalion, it appears as though we will be hosting many guests this evening. Would you have Galion arrange some libations? Whatever he sees fit. Legolas, I may wish to send some missives.’ As he rose, he said to Elrond, ‘I hope your meeting goes well. It certainly is an interesting topic.’

It was, and after most of the realm’s healers had proven curiously reclusive it felt satisfying to spend the day critiquing some of their collective latest research. He was thus kept very busy while Thranduil saw to those petitions Almeldir or Legolas felt required his personal input. They must be quite confident in their decisions, however, because in early afternoon Elrond returned to the Halls after battling through wind that made him regret donning a cloak, and was advised to go to the smaller family kitchen. There he found Thranduil, beside the great fireplace, apparently assisting Nostalion with that evening’s meal.

This appeared to have been an impromptu decision; his heavy over-robe was thrown of the back of a chair, his sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, and his hair was in an unravelling single braid that he presumably couldn’t fix because of the flour on his hands. The two were stood close beside each other looking into a pot hung over the fire, somehow perceptibly kin in a way they rarely were to his eyes. Nostalion held a spoon up, his free hand diligently underneath.

‘Try,’ he said. Thranduil did.

‘Most agreeable. Yes, I like that.’

‘I thought you might. I put a bottle of wine in whilst you were preoccupied with dicing.’

‘A  _bottle_?’

‘Don’t concern yourself; it wasn’t the good stuff.’  

Elrond laughed, and they both turned to him in surprise as he wandered over to them, though he noticed Thranduil smiled immediately. He had smiled the same way last night, when Elrond had taken the wad of papers from his hand and kissed him, leading him from his chair before the fire without a word.

‘I doubt that the stew will be much improved by strands of hair,’ he said, gesturing to Thranduil’s braid, ‘Perhaps I might assist?’

Thranduil turned and stilled, allowing him to swiftly add a stopping braid to the end of the tail.

‘You have made progress I take it?’ Thranduil asked.

‘Some,’ he confirmed, ‘Promising progress.’

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Since breakfast? No.’

‘Nor I. Cous?’

‘Help yourself. There’s some trout left,’ As Thranduil disappeared into the pantry, he continued, ‘and some morels.’

‘Are these ramsons needed?’

‘No, and they need cooking actually.’ Nostalion smiled at him politely the sound of rooting around came from the pantry, but as Thranduil busied himself cooking the three of them honeycombe-shaped morel mushrooms with the ever popular ramsons, their conversation began to thaw. By the time Thranduil set the mushrooms on the old oak table with some beautifully smoked trout, he felt he had gained a modest amount of ground. By the time they left Nostalion to his kitchen, he had asked Elrond to play his harp at the evening’s dance, and Elrond had gladly acquiesced. When the door closed behind them, Thranduil shared a conspiratorial glance with him, and murmured, almost as to himself, ‘A journey is comprised of nothing more than many steps.’ He had been much slower at cooking the mushrooms than Elrond thought likely.

Thranduil’s studio was designed to harness as much natural light as could be found within the mountain, with clever openings and mirrors. It was also full of lantern light, and perfect for paintings that would be housed indoors.

 There were so many paintings, of both places and people, and all of that wonderful vivid style. They spanned  great swathes of time; here was Legolas, as grown as he was now, alone and quiescent in thoughtful perusal of the Wood, and there was a busy scene of Oropher in Sindarin court clothes and bearing a dark-haired child in his arms, grinning at the viewer as he descended a staircase towards them.

 And almost he heard the echoes of sound; one painting of a river was so evocative that he could all but hear the indescribable sound of white water in a churning, eddying tarn.

‘These are superb, Thranduil,’ he breathed, ‘why are they not displayed?’

True, the technical skill was imperfect, but which artist’s was not?

Thranduil appeared to consider several reasons before settling upon saying, ‘Many are too personal.’

Elrond thought of his own poetry. Yes, he could understand that.

‘You still prefer watercolours?’

‘I have never really found my hand with oil paints. Lack of practice perhaps.  Watercolour and tempera are much more familiar mediums.’

‘I have heard that the mediums an artist learns with will frequently remain their preference. Some have said they always remain the simplest means to translate the inspiration felt in the heart.’

‘Yes, I would say that is so for myself. There are often barriers enough without adding an unfamiliar medium, particularly if you paint infrequently. It depends whether you are painting to paint, or painting with a particular image in mind you wish to set down.’

‘If you have a particular aim, you can serve it best thus? So I see you are a painter in order to set down your mind, rather than to attain excellence in painting itself?’

‘I suppose that the latter is my tool for the former. The yellow pigment you brought me has a remarkable clarity to it. It was precisely what I required to complete a certain painting.’ He straightened and stepped away, but hesitated and returned to take Elrond’s hand in his for a moment. ‘I do not wish,’ he said, ‘to waken grief, and nor will I be offended if you would rather decline. I thought, perhaps, you might like the painting I speak of as a gift.’

He drew Elrond to look upon the covered easel, and removed the cloth that covered it with practiced ease. There was Celebrian. Celebrian, dancing in the Hall of Fire, with Elrond himself. She was the centre of the painting, the light and focus steadily losing clarity with distance from her; only a sense of movement remained, the extraordinary sense of movement and dynamism he loved in Thranduil’s work. They were fixed upon each other, laughing, in the midst of a lively waltz, most likely a Fingonion, and even the glowing flush of her excitement was captured in loving detail. How easy it was, to forget that Thranduil had been her cousin before they became each other’s everything. His throat tightened as he saw her hand upon his shoulder; the fingers were taut and straight, out of the classical shape, the way she held her hand when she was enjoying herself too much to care to concentrate on such things.

Her shining hair was in waterfall braids. Then, he had known only that they were a Sindarin style. Now he knew better. Irrational as it was, he wished for a moment that he could tell her that, that he knew now what they were called, and the cultural association the style had with the reels of her father’s people.

It was long moments before he could even breathe Thranduil’s name. His fingers ghosted over the surface of the painting, not quite touching. He forced himself to look away, to look at Thranduil.

_‘Thank you,’_ he managed, hoping his sincerity was as clearly seen as he needed it to be. Thranduil softened, in relief perhaps, and smiled.

‘She always dances with such joy,’ he said, as though the painting needed an excuse. ‘I missed so much of her youth but it has always seemed to me that when she dances I see the child she was.’

Elrond looked again at the vitality of colour and movement, and the simplicity that somehow brought her to life.

‘You have such a gift,’ he said.

‘No,’ Thranduil said, following his gaze. ‘I have stubbornness, and time that I might learn. It is not perfect, by a long shot, but it is her.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I hope very much that this does not grieve you, though I do not call it a reminder; I doubt a day goes by that you do not miss her, without the need for poor shadows of someone else’s memory. To see you together was glorious. You make each other so very joyful.’

He couldn’t find the right words to convey what he wished, and so instead he simply took him in a tight, brotherly embrace. ‘Thank you,’ he repeated. ‘Thank you, mellon vaen.’

When they left, he covered it with the care he would have given the finest paintings in his collection. On returning to his room, he placed the canvas safely secured on the mantelpiece, and sat and gazed at it for a long while, remembering how it felt to dance with her.

’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

Demands for songs came from all corners of the Hall, before an apparent consensus was reached. Voices rose above the cacophony, calling ‘A flute! A flute!’, and moments later Almeldir appeared in a whirl beside their table and said, ‘Thranduil, we need a flute.’ Thranduil grimaced.

‘What is the song?’ He shook his head upon hearing the answer. ‘I do not know that one. Not well enough.’

‘If you played more often you might play more confidently.’

‘Not tonight. You might try Lórintal.’

Almeldir looked puzzled. ‘She is yet in the South with-.’

‘She is here,’ Thranduil said, over sharply Elrond thought, but Almeldir seemed chastened and a little concerned. ‘I saw her a moment ago,’ Thranduil said more gently. ‘I would catch her before she begins dancing. You know you will never extract her once she’s begun.’

 It could not have been Lórintal, the healer he himself had been speaking with earlier; she resided in the far North of the realm. Yet, when the music resumed there she was, the flute held in ink stained fingers. Why had she said she had been in the North if she had not been? He tried to recall what had actually been said. Had she lied or been evasive, or had he merely misunderstood?

Thalaeron and Corelleth returned at that moment, with the dancer, Emlineth, between them.

Thranduil poured them some water and they drank gratefully.

‘Are you being martial with them, Emlineth?’ he asked.

‘They asked for dancing, thus I shall give them dancing,’ she replied.

Corelleth smiled ruefully, adjusting her chestnut hair where it had come loose. ‘You certainly have. Our dancing will be so improved when we return that we shall be in very high demand.’

‘It’s truly wonderful how often you all dance,’ Thalaeron said, ‘Almost every night since we arrived.’

‘Is there still so little opportunity in Imladris?’ Thranduil asked.

Emlineth shrugged with her dancer’s elegance. ‘I’m afraid so,’ she said, ‘There is still a good culture in Lindon, though. Do you visit often these days?’ She seemed quite taken with Corelleth.

‘Not as often as I should like and my aunt has taken ship now, so I have less need, but it is not so great a dearth in Imladris as it may seem at first glance. One simply has to know where to look.’

Thalaeron agreed, but said ‘There are just enough of those who hold to their old beliefs that most people in positions of responsibility would not wish to be seen.’

Corelleth nodded, but said in the steady voice that was so effective when in council, ‘The popularity of the rhetoric waxes and wanes; in time it will surely fail utterly. However,’ she smiled at Emlineth, ‘my parents first met at a dance, so I will grant that I am somewhat biased about its ability to pull our kindreds together.’

When Elrond had returned from playing the harp, which turned out to be an interesting experience with songs he barely knew and no music sheets, Thranduil turned his goblet by the stem for a few minutes and watched some of the dancers speculatively.

‘Would you care to learn?’ he enquired, ‘You will not have much opportunity to practice, once you return to the West, but there will be few opportunities to dance a Noldorin or Telerin style whilst you are here.’

That was true enough. As advisors, Corelleth’s and Thalaeron’s presence at these dances in Imladris might go unmarked. Elrond was another matter.

‘Not even in the Sindarin style?’

‘Rarely. Sindarin partner dances never really caught the imagination here. We thought we might organise an evening next month, however.’

‘I should like to try it,’ Elrond said, before admitting, ‘I have always thought it a very musical style. There are no set step combinations, are there?’

‘None.’

‘That has always intrigued me.’

‘Then we shall see about lessons, for I have neither the patience nor the skill to teach. It will do my technique some good, too, to return to the basics.’

Emlineth materialised behind him. ‘I am very glad to hear you say so. I didn’t want to be the one to suggest it.’

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

That, unfortunately, had been the last pleasant evening they enjoyed for some time. For the wind soon brought storms, which yielded torrential rain. Alone, this would have been manageable, indeed barely worth commenting upon. But the rivers were already swollen from meltwater from the unusually sudden thaw in the mountains, and the rain thus far in the year had denied the aquifers the time they required to drain, so that the new rain that was poured upon the Woodland Realm merely washed over the saturated ground into the rivers.

Even then, Elrond had not truly grasped the situation, for surely the leaves of the forest canopy intercepted the rain, and almost all settlements were sited where floods could never reach. These were no ordinary floods, however; near three months of rain fell in two nights.

Thankfully, Thranduil’s typical caution won out and anywhere at risk was utterly prepared, and Elrond could see wherefore the governance he had wondered about before. The system that had appeared unconnected and poorly integrated proved to be quite the opposite, and the knowledge of watercourses and their management was astonishing. He could see the need for Thranduil’s sometimes abrasive decisiveness as well; how else to manage so vast a realm? At some critical points he had doubted that a decision could possibly be made with so little information, with what at times seemed mere intuition, and yet Thranduil could do so.

They had theoretical maps of the river catchments, and measures of rainfall, and Elrond assisted throughout in quickly calculating volumes, predicting peak flows. There was some dissent regarding Elrond’s involvement, but Thranduil was all but caustic in his retort, stating that if anyone thought he would reject the knowledge and assistance of their ally, widely recognised as Middle Earth’s greatest living loremaster, they were gravely mistaken. Elrond was left to proceed without challenge after that.

They were nigh calm then; all was indeed under control, and roughly within their knowledge. Their communications and reports across the realm were well managed, within reason. They had time to respond, fair warning, if need be, and almost all those settlements which were at risk were evacuated at a leisurely pace to higher ground or into the Halls.

Then a message came with news of damage up-river, of trees and debris that had formed a rapidly filling dam, the structure of which was under dire strain. While there were no settlements in the flow of water that would come when it did fail, the Halls were inescapably at risk. More calculations, and more, to determine how much of the Halls to seal off, muddled by measures of siltation and ever-changing rainfall.

And then came the blaring of the horn, the last of a chain set along the river to herald the breaking of the dam. By the grace of Elbereth they had done all they needed to, that they might protect the forest’s inhabitants, and the stores they would need to succour the people of Greenwood until the forest recovered from the scouring of the floods and once more began to produce food.

They were safe for now, but it was hard won.

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

Thranduil’s book still lay open where it had fallen days before. Somewhat absently, Elrond picked it up, closed it, and set it upon the end table. The clothes Thranduil had been wearing when this all began were draped over the armchair, and another set of drenched clothes sat in a sodden heap at the door to the bedchamber, with a forlorn muddy boot abandoned on top of them. He doubted the king would feel much like setting that to right when he returned, so he picked them all up and searched for the wayward boot, finding it sole-upwards by the wardrobe. He set the boots outside the main door for cleaning and put all the clothing he could find in the washbasket in the bathing chamber.

Doubtless Thranduil would desire a bath before stumbling into bed. There was nothing to prepare for the bath itself, always full of water and warm from the hypocaust floor, but he retrieved a towel from the chest and thought he might put it somewhere near to hand. It would be far better, however, if it were warmed. In fact, a welcoming fire in the sitting room would be pleasant for someone who had spent days in wet cave passages, some of it wading through deep, rushing water, or out in the sodden forest. He had heard someone discussing the king and engineers swimming to open a door jammed shut, but put the thought out of his mind.

A warm fire now blazing, he set a towel, night clothes and dressing robe to warm up on a clothes-stand. He filled the kettle too and hung it from its hook over the fireplace. He crossed to the drinks cabinet and retrieved a decanter of brandy, and put in a teapot a blend that he had learnt was traditional here for late evenings before reverie, and had noticed Thranduil enjoyed. He had grown rather partial to it himself. He set it aside, closed and ready.   

Was there anything else he could do? The weekly set of fresh sheets were still where they had been left by the door. He entered the bedchamber, stripped the bed, changed the sheets and replaced the blanket and coverlet. Then he turned the bed down. It was somewhat chilled, so he built a fire in the empty grate here too, carefully transferring a lit kindling splint from the fire in the reception room.

This done, he returned to the reception room and sat in the armchair now happily devoid of clothing, idly picking up the book from where he had placed it on the end table and beginning to read.

It was after only a few pages that he heard voices coming closer but didn’t look up until he heard the door open. Thranduil entered alone, having bidden farewell to whomever had accompanied him up until that point, and stopped upon seeing Elrond. He glanced around the room, one hand still on the door handle, instantly noticing the difference Elrond had wrought. He looked, to put it bluntly, dreadful; his clothes and un-brushed hair were in varying stages of damp, moist and soaked, not to mention muddied, particularly at the knees. He had two smears of mud on his face and his hands were covered in dried silt. His posture was appalling; all tense, drawn up shoulders and slightly hunched, with the loose limbs of exhaustion. He had the remains of a large hunk of bread in one filthy hand.

He seemed to struggle for a moment, during which Elrond considered apologising for interfering, but just as Elrond stood, he gave a tired but sincere smile.

“Thank you,  _mellon nin_.”

“Not at all,” Elrond replied. “I only hope that the intrusion is not unwelcome.”

Thranduil shrugged. “You are never unwelcome.” he said offhandedly.

 Thranduil left to bathe, with the instruction to call when he was finished. In just a short while he did so, and Elrond set the tea to infuse and took the warm towel and clothing through.

“I did wonder whether you would fall asleep whilst bathing.” he mused, as Thranduil shrugged his dressing robe on over his nightclothes.

“I was close to it.” he murmured, running his fingers idly through his hair.

They returned to the sitting room, where Elrond gestured to Thranduil to settle on the sofa and poured two cups of tea. Thranduil raised the cup to his lips, paused, and smiled crookedly before relaxing back against the cushions and closing his eyes, exhaling contentedly. Elrond set a brandy on the table before him and retrieved a comb before sitting beside him. Thranduil startled a little when he spoke.

“If you sit up I can comb your hair.”  

The quiet as he did so was comfortable, with only the crackle of the fire to be heard. Thranduil’s shoulders began to lose some of their tension, so though the golden hair he combed was already untangled, he continued until Thranduil placed his tea on the table and once more sat back. This time he took Elrond’s face in his hands and kissed him chastely. He returned it and they indulged unhurriedly.

He savoured the warmth of the fire, the feel of Thranduil’s form beside him, and the languid, affectionate lust he felt. There was no particular aim in mind, nothing propelling him, and they stayed as they were for long minutes as the fire crackled and spat.

But then Thranduil’s hand rested warm on his thigh and he felt himself responding. With the lure of rest so near, did Thranduil really desire this, or was he instigating it for Elrond’s sake? He broke the kiss and held his palm to Thranduil’s chest in restraint; perplexed, Thranduil tilted his head in question but Elrond didn’t quite know how to articulate what he wanted to say. He spoke slowly, and with care.

“I would not wish you to believe that I had an ulterior motive this evening, nor that you are obligated in any way.”

Thranduil frowned. “I did not believe that I was. If I perceived that  _you_  believed thus, I would certainly not cooperate. Why? Would  _you_ consider this to be… payment for services rendered?”

“No, of course I would n-”

“Why would you enquire thus if you did not suppose you were entitled to stay?”

“You know I do not hold with such vile beliefs, but I know that some do and wished to reassure you that I am not one of them. Though I was under the impression that I was ‘never unwelcome’,“ he couldn’t help but add. Thranduil rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t mean  _stay,_ of course you may  _stay_ I meant…well…”

Elrond sighed and leant his forehead against Thranduil’s.

“I knew what you meant to say.” he admitted. “I was piqued that you doubted me. That you doubted how much I value and respect you.”

Thranduil digested that for a moment, before sighing. When he spoke, it was with an air of capitulation.

“As we are being candid, I kissed you because I want you. I kissed you because I wished to do so and, with your agreement, I shall do so again because being intimate with you is most pleasant, and because you are indescribably kind and you do not realise it, and because you look even more beautiful by firelight than you do ordinarily.”

Elrond kissed him again, slowly and unhurriedly, feeling every movement. Thranduil really must be exhausted to be speaking like that.

“Most pleasant?” he queried, with a pointedly raised brow. Thranduil cast his eyes upwards for a moment, before he sighed and admitted:

“In all honesty, I can think of nothing I would like more at this moment than to go to bed with you.”

That rather decided it then. Elrond threaded his fingers at the nape of his neck, into his golden hair and drew him closer for an open-mouthed, languorous kiss. He skimmed his thumb along Thranduil’s jaw, down the side of his neck, felt his pulse leap. With every kiss and every touch, a little more disquiet seemed to seep from the form against his own. He drew the cloth of Thranduil’s robe and shirt away from his neck and kissed him there as well for good measure, at the join to his shoulder, at his collarbone, and felt Thranduil’s hand on his thigh once more. Thranduil stood and held a hand out to him.

“Come to bed.” he suggested. “Before we disagree again.”

In bed, mindful of that delicious languorous state that lingered after bathing, he remained deliberately relaxed and gentle. He wished to cherish this elf, all of a sudden, and drew out each kiss and touch. Thranduil, who had coordinated fairly according to people’s strengths but had taken on those he could of the most wearying of the repair roles, repeatedly, as a matter of course. Thranduil, who could make prudent decisions when Elrond would still have been dithering. Thranduil, who had not rested in days and yet craved intimacy with Elrond more than he did reverie. When a hand reached Elrond’s groin and stroked in an attempt to hurry things along, he laced their fingers together instead. Thwarted again, Thranduil broke the kiss.

“I must insist that you make haste.” he said. “I’m more liable to fall asleep the longer I am lying flat.”

Elrond had to admit that he looked half-asleep already; relaxed, loose limbed, eyelashes dipping. Nevertheless, he raised an eyebrow, hoping to communicate how little he appreciated the comment, and his next kiss held a gentle bite. He did add some urgency though, and soon had Thranduil gasping and overcome as he drove into him. Feeling Thranduil’s hands fluttering restlessly over his shoulders and his legs locked around his waist, Elrond settled down onto his elbows and into a very satisfying rhythm.

“Are you falling asleep yet?” he enquired.

Thranduil released his lower lip from where he had been biting it. “I rescind that statement wholeheartedly,” he managed.

“I hoped you might.”

He sped up, relishing the groan this produced. With the rhythm and angle he set, it wasn’t long before Thranduil was close. As Elrond watched, he glanced down at where they joined then clenched his hand into a fist upon the pillow, turned his face away and swore as he climaxed. Elrond followed immediately. He let his forehead rest on Thranduil’s temple, his unbound hair falling forward, before he felt Thranduil stroke his back and stretch underneath him.

“Now I truly am fatigued,” he said apologetically.

Elrond separated them carefully and flopped down on his back, one arm outflung on Thranduil’s chest. His hand was held and a thumb traced soothing circles on the back of it. Just as he began to doze, there was motion beside him and then Thranduil was lying with his head on Elrond’s chest and an arm tucked across him, his fingers curled against Elrond’s side. He was immediately deep in reverie, eyes nearly closed, and after a moment of incredulity Elrond gingerly embraced him in turn and stroked his still damp hair. They had not put the lanterns out, he realised.

So be it; he wasn’t moving now.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who is reading, kudosing and commenting, so so much. I'm so sorry for the delay! 
> 
> I've been messing with this chapter for months and have decided that a whole 'action' section (so many words, so much thought...) I intended will mean this will never get written if I don't let go of it :( So I hope this doesn't feel rushed, or spare, or throwaway.   
> Please, please let me know. I can always alter things-that's of the beauties of this format. Also, as usual, let me know of any errors. What would give me a great platform to work from if you have time is if you could tell me two things you liked, however small, and something you think could be improved. I work in customer relationship management-I have a tough hide ;) 
> 
> Elrond's a little self-deprecating in places. It's not that I myself think little of Elrond (come on, I adore the guy), it's that he knows his own weaknesses.   
> And I swear he will stop being obsessed with food soon.


	6. Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil is having a rough couple of days, and has really had it with almost everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve realised that there seems to be an alarming lack of respect for Thranduil in this chapter, from almost everyone really. I guess just be aware that everyone in the conversations I haven’t relayed is very respectful ;)
> 
> Erm, this is so filthy I’m actually embarrassed for once. It’s for reasons not totally related to libido, I promise. 
> 
> As a heads up:  
> The dancing that developed from the crucible of Sirion/Lindon refugee culture is basically Argentine tango. Go look up some salon tango videos, it's gorgeous. The elves tend to call it Gonathravorn, or Gonathra for short. It means to stand/hold enmeshed. If you are better at Sindarin than I am, please feel free to tell me the proper translation of that phrase...
> 
> Alassiel - renowned manager of Greenwood's silk production and trade  
> Almeldir - Thranduil's second in command  
> Nostalion - Alassiel's brother. Manages overall food production and the royal household, along with Galion.  
> Galion - Come on, you know Galion. Gets drunk lots. A bit devil may care. Has both a soft spot and an antagonistic bent towards Thranduil. 
> 
> Corelleth - One of Elrond's most relied upon advisors  
> Thalaeron - Also an advisor. Worked with Gil-galad. 
> 
> Emlineth - Professional dancer. Knew Thranduil well in Lindon, though she was very young at the time.  
> Linhir - Professional dancer. Knew Thranduil well in Lindon. They worked together to help a friend build a business once. Hauling fish around together tends to build a fairly irreverent friendship.

 The roots of the oak were welcoming, and their shape softened under him hospitably. He cautioned the tree to cease; the ledge on which they perched was precarious enough, without further disturbing the soil of the river-cliff. Still, he settled gratefully to sit with his back against the earth and rock of the cliff, his feet dangling perhaps fifty feet over the water of the meander.

In this spell of warm weather, the beauty and tranquillity of the Wood in spring belied the near gouging the land had received from the floods. The birds all sang once more, there were celandine, and early daffodils, and the crocuses had opened. He listened to the river glug and blop over a fallen branch far below.

As Elrond had mentioned that morning, the hyacinths would soon be blooming, and Imladris would be redolent with them.

Thankfully the news from Imladris was good, despite their somewhat dubious (to his mind) positioning; the weather had not been nearly so brutal as it had in Rhovanion. Nearly a month since the rains ended and they were only now almost back to normal. And so very nearly had disaster struck.

In the wake, there was still the question of what to do about Galion. What _could_ be done, really? They had made such progress lately, such strides in trust. Thranduil had been considering asking if he wished to accompany him to Imladris on his next visit, as valet and companion; with Nostalion’s guidance there was no reason that Galion’s assistant could not manage the household whilst they were away. Now how could he, with this between them?

How could he possibly broach the depth of Galion’s error, and speak of the potential horrors that, _thank Yavannah,_ had never come to pass…How, when he, Thranduil, had failed to prevent the ultimate horror for Galion? It was not forgotten, that much was clear from the spark of malice that had flashed into his old friend’s face when, beset by the council’s near-panic, he had spun towards Thranduil and taken a step towards him as he hissed, ‘ _We all make mistakes’._

A throat was cleared somewhere below him. Between the leaves, he could see Elrond where he now stood looking up at him enquiringly from the riverbank. It was still odd to see the longer, structured tunics, nearly robes in truth, that Elrond preferred to wear over the very Silvan style of rugged doeskin breeches he had recently bought at the market in acknowledgement of the fact that much of his clothing was unsuitable for travelling about the forest. Still, it worked, and he looked much more comfortable thus, though it had been amusing to see Elrond so discomfited the one time he had worn them in the manner usual in modern Greenwood, with the short split tunics. Now, Elrond was once more frowning with an air of vague unease.

‘That doesn’t look very safe,’ he observed.

‘It probably isn’t,’ Thranduil admitted.

‘How did you get up there?’

‘I climbed the beech to your left, made my way up through the trees until I reached the boughs of this oak, and climbed down.’

He patted the nodules of exposed oak root beside him. Most likely the rain had washed its covering of soil away and over the edge into the river.    

After several moments of planning, Elrond put down the small satchel he was carrying and took to the boughs. He was not so confident as the elves of this realm, but he was not a _bad_ climber. The trees, not knowing him and thinking him strange, neither hindered nor helped. The beech in particular was utterly uninterested.

Elrond slotted so seamlessly into this quiet moment, and Thranduil was grateful for it, and glad of his company.

Often, Elrond’s presence was jarring. It was a fly buzzing just beside his ear. The problem wasn’t Elrond himself, who was being utterly affable and agreeable. It was simply that…Elrond was like as to a character who had wandered into the wrong tale.

Thranduil’s tale, here in the Greenwood, was already in full flow of the telling. Where was this new character to fit?

Elrond descended the final few branches and settled beside him.

‘You have been absent for some time,’ he said, before admitting, ‘I have been sent to retrieve you.’

‘By whom?’

‘By your son.’

‘Not in so many words, I hope.’

‘No.’ He looked out appreciatively at the view over the river and into the forest canopy. ‘You have found quite the view. It reminds me of one of Lady Idhrenim’s poems.’  

Ah yes; Idhrenim. ‘How is she?’

‘She is very well, and close to completing her latest portfolio of translations. I’m to be permitted an early copy of the manuscript in exchange for teaching her the fundamentals of ancient Dwarvish.’

‘And pleasant company as always?’

Elrond chuckled. ‘Very much so. The lady is a true scholar.’

‘Would you retain the manuscript for me? I should be interested to read it myself.’

‘I will do better, and scribe you a copy. I shall even bind it myself,’ he teased, ‘with the new method I have been developing.’

‘Have you no work to do in Imladris?’

‘It will take me no more time than a painting,’ Elrond said softly.

Doubtless Elrond, with his extraordinary empathy, would know exactly how to speak to Galion.

It was at times like these that he admired Elrond’s gentleness, that came not from the absence of pain or violence in Elrond’s life, but despite the abundance of it. It was a control over himself that was not due, as some said, to an inability to be harsh, but by an internal iron strength which made it possible for him to be gentle. His patience with the hearts of others was standing him in good stead during this visit.

‘I apologise,’ Thranduil said, ‘for Alassiel.’

Apparently perplexed, Elrond said, ‘Why are you at fault? Can you control the minds of everyone in your realm?’

‘I meant more that I should have managed it before it reached that point. I knew she would be reluctant, and should have ensured I had spoken to her before the subject was broached.’

‘I do not believe you could have predicted that Lórintal would act so precipitously.’

‘Perhaps not. I have known for some time of her growing desire for the manufacture of these new bandages.’

‘We believe they will offer great improvements in wound healing. I hope I am correct in believing that it is not the principle that has caused problems, but instead my involvement?’

How to explain some of the ill feeling?

‘We have all endured so many attempts to ‘educate’ us in the past, and from…’ From a scion of the line of Elu…

‘From me, it is an even greater insult,’ Elrond allowed, ‘I know that those attitudes exist, and that they are problematic. I don’t see education as my aim and this silk weaving technique has been developed between both myself and Lórintal, and after consultation with several scholars from varied kindreds.’

‘I understand that. Nevertheless, your motivations are not so clear to others.’ Though he would ask Almeldir for an update on that tomorrow.

‘I believe most of the healers I’ve been working with understand. They have shown me a wonderful new analgesic and took well to the ointment I told you about. I brought far more jars today than I believed necessary, and have only one left.’

‘Will we be able to replicate it here?’

‘Oh yes, you have all the necessary ingredients in the wood and if they find that it is useful, they have the instructions to make more.’

Good. If some of the healers could be seen to be both gaining and giving knowledge on an equal footing with Elrond, it certainly wouldn’t hurt, even if most of them were still in the South.

Elrond stood, and looked once more at the branches around him. ‘I will see you on the ground,’ he said, before pulling himself up. Thranduil stood, keeping an eye on Elrond’s progress. He noticed the ease of his movements almost at the very same time as he noticed that the oak’s song had been changing.

The oak was assisting him; curiosity practically burbling in it’s sap, and it was _helping him,_ as proprietary as with any new child of the wood. Yet there was something more; a recognition that here was something a little unusual. Comparatively deaf to them as Elrond may be, they were not so to him; had they heard his Maiarin heritage? Or perhaps that he was of the line of their old high king? Or perhaps they merely found his _fea_ pleasing, and Thranduil was being foolish. He leapt to a far-flung bough, and began to swing his own way down.

The meeting that afternoon was so long that they broke for dinner and then resumed again afterwards. They were so very nearly returned to their situation before the floods, but they wouldn’t afford complacency now. They were still managing the entire realm’s resources through instructions from the capital, just to be certain that all the villages would continue to have what they needed. It did require some shuffling, and a fair bit of negotiation. Talk turned to the request for the silk makers to develop and dispense the new bandages. Was there enough silk, when Alassiel and her team were still trying to bring the silkworm population back up to a reasonable level? Was there enough time? He was assured that there was just enough of both, but rumour had spread that Alassiel would not be assisting. Was that true?

‘That has not yet been decided. Can it still be accomplished if the answer is nay?’

It could.

‘We might wait for eternity if we seek an opportune time to do this. We ought to continue whilst both Lorintal and Elrond are present. I will speak with Alassiel before making any decisions, however. Almeldir, will you please send her to me after we finish here?’

And finish they soon did, thankfully. It was late, now. Almeldir nodded to him and said,

‘I shall go and find Alassiel. See you tomorrow.’

He didn’t have to wait long, and when his cousin arrived, in a swirl of her periwinkle skirts, she began to speak as though they were already halfway through a conversation.

‘I cannot face it, Thranduil. I cannot face him, and what he is.’

Did she believe that would overawe him? Did she know no better than that after all this time?

‘And what is he?’

‘You don’t feel it, then?’

‘Feel what, Alassiel?’

‘Every time I look upon him, or hear him speak, it brings it all back. All the hopes we have for those boys, all the chances destroyed, everything that went ill that prevented all we dreamed of.’

‘What did we dream of? Save a safe home, and peace? We have those things now.’

She was so close to tears. He nearly reached out to her, but stopped. She had been a grown elleth since Harlindon, and he would not treat her as a child and have her crumple just to make him feel as though he was helping.

‘We lost so much, Thrandul. We lost so _many.’_ She said. ‘Does he not make you remember?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ he finally admitted. ‘Sometimes he does. The things he doesn’t know…’ But of late the hold of memories had weakened. He knew Elrond well enough now that the truth could overcome the creations of his mind.  ‘He is not that child any longer, Alassiel. He is Elrond, his own self. That is what I see now, when I look at him.’

She breathed deeply a moment. ‘Good,’ she said decisively. ‘That is good. It must make things easier for you.’

‘I do remember, though. He used to wear Noldorin armour, when touring from Imladris. Each time I saw him it was…it was like a ricochet. You see, I do understand. You do not have to be involved directly, in any aspect, if you are confident the others can manage it without you. If we need your assistance, I’ll enquire of you myself, informally.’

‘ _Thank you,_ Thranduil. Thank you. They will manage it well. I just couldn’t have abided working so closely-‘

‘I know.’

She composed herself, and looked at him with such an expression that he nearly looked away.

 ‘I make things very difficult for you,’ she said, ‘when you’re trying to do your best. And when he is a friend who understands what it is to be a king better than any of us. How you must resent me.’

Long, long ago, when first they had arrived in Sirion, the refugees of Doriath had constructed makeshift shelters of animal pelts, and of woven reeds and branches. Soon, the sailmakers of the Teleri had sewn many great tents of canvas for them whilst they built themselves a home. Strong and watertight, they had been a boon while the bite of winter thawed. After so long on the journey together, having perhaps a dozen or more elves in one tent was even luxury. They were fortunate in numerous ways; many of the inhabitants of Sirion recalled their time as refugees of Nargothrond. Most were kind and gave of their own resources in their mercy, regardless of the wounded distrust they were greeted with.

Grateful though the Iathrim were, as spring infused with summer many had begun to chafe to be out of the plain walls. In lighter moments, they had made simple dyes. Thranduil made brushes, as he had been taught, and was told to take some time to “paint something”. At first, he hadn’t known what to paint. He had stood with crude paintbrush in hand before the plain white wall, the finest canvas a being could ask for, and been at a loss. All he knew, all the beauty he had ever seen, had been of _Doriath_.

The frustration built until he had nearly _thrown_ the damned paint against the canvas. It was Alassiel who had saved it. She came through the tent flap with an armful of straw to see him and, taking the paintbrush, traced a brown curve, and then another, against the blankness. Then she passed the brush back to him, nodded with satisfaction, and left. He stared at the two arbitrary brown arcs. A deer, he decided. By the time Adar had Nostalion drag him away for the evening meal, a stag and a doe observed them from the wall, poised for flight.

_‘How you must resent me.’_

‘No,’ he lied, because his love for her was greater than his resentment. ‘I do not.’

She nodded tightly, and turned to go. At the door, she took a few deep breaths, and her grip on the door loosened a little.

‘Do you ever regret this?’ she asked.

‘What part?’

‘Any of it.’

‘Do you?’

‘Our guest,’ she said, ‘is making me consider such questions whether I will it or no. What the answers are…’ She shrugged one shoulder.

‘Goodnight, cousin.’  

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Thranduil finished putting away his clothing from the night before, moving quietly in awareness of the sleeping elf in his bed. He would have to wake Elrond soon, ideally before the morning bell; there wasn’t a great deal of time between that and breakfast. He was pre-empted by rustling behind him, and a sigh; Elrond waking, and stretching. Thranduil took his dressing robe from its hook and shrugged it on. As he tied the cords, there was a sleepy sounding voice from the bed.

‘Why would you go and do a thing like that?’

‘Enjoying the view, were we?’ he replied, while himself turning and taking a good look at Elrond nude in his bed. He looked delightfully mussed.

‘You know I was,’ Elrond said.

Thranduil wouldn’t give him that so easily; he inclined his head in neither admittance nor negation, but  when he walked past the bed, he consented to be stopped by a hand that grasped the knot of the cord of his robe. Elrond had risen up on one elbow, and now drew him closer with his hold upon the knot, to kneel one leg upon the bed.

As he looked on, Elrond untied the loose knot, opened the robe, and kissed the only part of Thranduil he could easily reach, which happened to be his abdomen. His free hand ventured into the robe, and Thranduil could feel his fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin of his flank.

‘Breakfast is not far away,’ Thranduil said, but his hand cupped Elrond’s shoulder and though his voice wasn’t affected his breathing was, by necessity, overly steady. Elrond, in his attention, would no doubt notice these things.

‘I know,’ he replied, and glanced up before stretching and laying a kiss on his sternum this time. ‘I also know that we have some time after the meal before the lesson is due to begin,’ those roving fingertips were now on his inner thigh. ‘…and am encouraging you not to find anything else to occupy you in the meantime, when a matter of quite urgent diplomatic importance awaits you here.’

Actually, he had indeed intended to visit his studio, so that he might put one or two paintings further out of sight.

‘Have I been neglecting you, then?’ He thought of the night before, of using Elrond’s palms against his own for balance as he knelt straddling him.

Perhaps Elrond was remembering the same thing, because he shivered and said, ‘Not at all. Quite the opposite, and so I have perhaps been spoiled.’

Time was trickling away. He stood, closed his robe, and sat at his dresser to comb his hair into halfway suitable restraint.

‘As appalled as I am that I must concede this to you of all people, you are correct that I must not interfere; I offended 3 people this last week alone with the implication that I didn’t trust them to fulfil their role.’

‘Pride does come before a fall.’

‘Is that intended to chastise them or me?’

‘You have a great deal to be proud of.’

‘And you are skilled at backhanded flattery,’ Thranduil allowed. When he turned back, Elrond was lying against the pillows and his expression was fond. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, and sat up fully. They quickly bathed and dressed, each in their unworn bedclothes. Elrond’s rather more formal night-shirt still bore creases from folding. He tried to smooth them to no avail. Nevermind; there were small giveaways like that fairly regularly and no one had yet commented.

Again as usual, Thranduil went first. He left his quarters, glanced to either end of the corridor, and then opened the door again to allow Elrond out. Initially, they had painstakingly ensured that they never entered the family dining room together; Elrond would have continued on, and Thranduil followed a few moments later. He might even wait until after the bell had rung, and wander along then. But that had become a rather foolish seeming ordeal very quickly. They were not younglings, to be sneaking thus. Still, discretion never hurt.

At breakfast, Legolas enquired whether that morning was indeed to be Elrond’s first Gonathra dance lesson.

‘Yes,’ Elrond said. ‘We are meeting them in the hall in a short while.’

‘Who else is attending?’ Nostalion asked as he stirred some much needed jam into his nut and acorn pap.

‘My advisors will be joining us.’

‘No one else?’

Thranduil intervened. ‘It is a lesson, cousin, not a performance. Doubtless Linhir and Emlineth will bring a musician or two, but I doubt they will have other students.’

By the time they had eaten, Thranduil was finding it very difficult to concentrate, and it was a great relief to finally be able to leave, and return to his quarters.

As soon as Elrond had joined him, and he had locked the door to his chambers behind them, he pulled Elrond to his bedroom, and kissed the skin behind his ear.

As he pushed Elrond’s robe from his shoulders to fall about his feet, he said,

‘So, this urgent diplomatic matter you spoke of earlier; how can I be of assistance?’ Elrond’s nightshirt was in his way. He pulled the lapel aside and kissed his collarbone.

He could already feel Elrond’s fingers picking at the laces of his trousers.

‘It is really more a matter of how _I_ can assist _you_ ,’ he said.

‘Is that so?’

‘I’ve been considering the matter all through breakfast,’

‘I am glad to hear that I am not alone in that,’

Elrond smirked. ‘I was successful then?’

‘Yes, you damn well were,’ he muttered, as a hand finally found its way past his laces, and he couldn’t hold a soft, pleased sound as Elrond cupped him. He tugged at Elrond’s shirt. ‘Get this off.’

‘With one hand?’

Grasping the wandering hand by the wrist, he removed it and gathered the shirt to lift it over Elrond’s head, paying no attention to restraining his wayward hair as he did so. As soon as that was accomplished, he kissed him fervently, exasperating smart-arse elf that he was. Only a layer of clothing now separated them, and Elrond was naked against him, all muscle and hard-. A sharp push against his ribs had him dropping inelegantly to sit on the side of his bed.

‘I have an assignment to meet,’ Elrond said disapprovingly. ‘Fie on you for distracting me.’

He went to his knees, returned the kiss, and started removing Thranduil’s loose trousers, which pre-empted the somewhat scathing response he’d been planning. Aside from a brief difficulty with having underestimated quite how long Thranduil’s legs were, Elrond quickly had the trousers discarded on the floor. Perhaps it was best to allow him to get on with it, so to speak.

Which he did, with alacrity, and with firm, callused hands on Thranduil’s hips. With his shirt off, his hair fell over his shoulders and back. Being as careful not to tug as he could be, under the circumstances, Thranduil tucked stray locks behind his ears, and ran his fingertips over the points. Elrond’s hands slipped under his thighs and lifted, opening his legs and exposing him further. He let one hand twine in Elrond’s hair, and bit back moan after moan. Before long, he’d lost all inclination to care about such things.

As he came back to himself he thought how tidy Elrond’s assignment had been. What a good idea.

‘Stand up,’ he said.

It was odd, to have Elrond standing over him thus, but far more comfortable, psychologically, than being on his knees. Elrond was so close, already, that Thranduil could taste him immediately.

 He slipped his hands across the inside of Elrond’s thighs, and up, and when the hold on his shoulders became heavy he knew it wouldn’t be long. When he had climaxed, he was so unsteady on his feet that, amused, Thranduil took his hand and guided him to sit on the bed next to him. He didn’t let go of Elrond’s hand, and when Elrond kissed his shoulder and then let his head come to rest there, he tipped his own head until his cheek was on Elrond’s crown. 

Eventually, Thranduil squeezed his hand and then let go.

‘We need to dress.’

Elrond nodded and stood with a stretch. It showed his trim waist to perfect effect. ‘Something practical?’

‘Reasonably, with the softest shoes you possess. Preferably with a leather sole.’

’Very well.’ He dressed in his nightshirt and robe for the second time that day so far.

‘Treat me kindly, wont you?’ he said, only half in jest, or so it sounded.

‘It isn’t me you need be concerned about, for once.’ Thranduil caught his arms and pulled him down for a kiss.

Elrond deepened it, touching his tongue lazily to Thranduil’s, and tracing his jaw. No sooner had the kiss ended than he touched their lips together again. And again.

‘Get out,’ Thranduil said, and pushed him away with a great show of irritation.

At the hall, Emlineth and Linhir were chatting with a group of three minstrels, introducing them to Corelleth and Thalaeron.

Linhir opened a hand to him, and he took it without thought. ‘What kept you? You need to practice your following,’ he said without preamble, and they walked to Thalaeron, to whom he said, ‘and you your leading. Which works out well, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Corelleth?’ Emlineth said, ‘Would you perhaps pair with Elrond for a short while? I can then concentrate on teaching. We’ll dance later though, I promise.’

Corelleth smiled. ‘Of course. If you are comfortable thus, my lord?’

He could almost see Elrond recalling the close proximity required. ‘If you are, then I am,’ he said. He said something quietly then, to her alone, and Thranduil knew he was reassuring her of his readiness to cease the instant she became uncomfortable.

‘For now,’ Linhir said, ‘simply watch. The embrace is the most important part of the dance. It provides the connection between the dancers that enables them to hear each other.’ They took up the typical close embrace; leaning into each other, Thranduil’s right hand in Linhir’s left, the other arm passing behind and resting on each other’s back. ‘I, the leader, will usually be referred to as the Amrûn _East,_ and Thranduil as the follower is the Annûn _West._ Some may try and tell you that this is because an Amrûn is as _inexorable_ as Anor as she journeys from East to West, but they’re wrong. Every movement is an invitation and nothing more. Each invitation comes from the movements of the torso; the chest, the sternum, the shoulders. Even the stomach.’ He inhaled, his stomach curling away, and Thranduil followed as though sucked into the space, and into a forward step. Elrond stepped closer, with that studious look of his, no doubt already disassembling the movement in his mind.

‘How did you do that?’ he queried.

‘Thranduil’s role as Annûn  is to maintain contact, almost to resist my own force. This creates forward pressure, and if I yield in a controlled manner…’ He repeated the motion. ‘He all but falls into me as I step backwards. Not all followers will understand that lead, but Thranduil maintains an excellent connection, so we get away with it. Although…’ He led an ocho, a rotational figure-of-eight movement, opening the embrace so that he could glance at their feet as they moved. ‘He still needs to persevere with the angle of his feet.’

‘I _am_ present, Linhir.’

‘That’s why I said it. You need to practice following more. If you keep letting your toes drift together rather than pointing outwards, you’ll end up in a real state later in the dance.’

Thalaeron turned out to be an excellent leader to practice with, with a smooth, firm lead, even if he appeared a little nervous to be leading the King of Greenwood. It still felt strange, verging on uncomfortable, to increase the angle of his feet so greatly.

Having released Elrond from her exacting clutches for the time being, Emlineth wandered over to watch them.

‘You’re improving,’ she mused. ‘That looks a great deal more elegant now.’

Frustrated, Thranduil broke the embrace and stepped away, saying, ‘It is fortunate that it _looks_ elegant at least, for it makes me feel like a goose.’

Linhir appeared from behind her, with a grin that was a little unnerving.

‘Well,’ he said, offering his hand and closing his fingers around Thranduil’s, ‘when you make that face…’

Taking up the embrace was effortless, and the coiled energy in Linhir’s body against him was plain. This would be quite a dance.

‘…you look like one.’

The minstrels took up a lively tune at that instant, as though pre-ordained, and Thranduil couldn’t help but laugh as Linhir led him in a chaotic, merry dance.

As the tune reached a crescendo and finished, they ended their final step perfectly on the beat.

He stepped back from the embrace, but Linhir did not immediately release his right hand. He seemed confused and a little taken aback. Thranduil raised a brow and took a breath for a jest, but Linhir released him.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Thank you for the dance.’

Still, he seemed preoccupied for some time, and during the evening’s gathering before dinner Thranduil caught Emlineth staring directly at him, while Linhir whispered in her ear. She broke eye contact and shook her head, but it seemed Linhir still disagreed.

So it was that when Linhir sidled up to him with two goblets in hand, Thranduil took one and skipped the small talk.

‘What?’ he demanded.

‘Nothing particularly,’ He was looking away, over the heads of the assembled elves.

The sounds of merriment seemed particularly loud as Thranduil waited him out.

‘Except that…’ he flicked his eyes sideways to Thranduil for a moment. ‘Your dancing has changed.’

‘Naturally; regional variation over time is to be expected.’

‘I meant something a little more elemental.’

‘Do spit it out, Linhir.’

He hmm’ed and haa’ed a moment, before saying slyly, ‘I don’t know if I dare. Is it sensible to broach such a subject with a king?’

Thranduil feigned irritation. ‘You had no qualms earlier in stating that I look like a goose, so you’ll forgive me if I doubt that sentiment somewhat.’

‘True. Very well, you keep an eye in front and I will check behind.’

He leant closer, turning to look behind them as he had said, and muttered in Thranduil’s ear as though commenting upon some nicety.

‘I speculate that you’ve been intimate with an ellon since last we met.’

 Without conscious volition, Thranduil glanced to Elrond, to see him deep in discussion with Corelleth. He took a long, slow sip of wine, letting the smooth wood sit against his lips for a moment. Linhir turned once more to look directly at him, and spoke again, serious this time for once.

‘I hope I haven’t offended you.’

He roused himself. ‘No. You have not. You have struck your mark, is all, and rather disarmed me.’

His brow furrowed and he leant improperly close, clasped Thranduil’s arm in comradely fashion. ‘It is no great dreadful thing, my old friend, to have experienced this.’

‘Not in and of itself, perhaps, but I would rather it were not known. These are delicate circumstances, for reasons I cannot explain.’

 ‘As you wish. Emlineth also knows,’ he admitted.

‘I thought she might. That is what your little rendezvous was regarding, I assume? Do not look so alarmed. I am not angered; merely concerned. You say you noticed from my dancing?’

He nodded somewhat reluctantly.

‘It is not visible?’

‘No, and I don’t really know what I felt.  It was just…you knew, when you did not before.’

‘Knew what?’

‘I don’t know. Only that you knew it.’

‘How helpful.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, with a shy, wry smile.  ‘I don’t believe it is overly noticeable. Consider how long we have been dancing with each other. Anyway, most leads can hardly feel what foot their follower is on, let alone that sort of subtlety.’

‘The day you are a master of subtlety, Linhir, is the day I leave this Wood for the Blessed Lands.’

They shared a glance, before going their separate ways.

Thranduil turned just in time to see Elrond accept a crystal goblet containing a suspicioud looking liquid from Antien.

‘It is designed to be taken in one swallow,’ Antien was saying, ‘The flavour is greatly superior.’

Elrond cast a doubtful glance at the laurel green liquid, but lifted the goblet to his lips.

‘Elrond,’ Thranduil called, voice pitched low. Nevertheless, Elrond looked at him immediately.

‘No?’ he asked.

‘I would not advise it,’ Thranduil said, taking the glass and handing it back to Antien. ‘I believed I had made myself clear on the subject of terrorising guests?’

‘You,’ Antien said, ‘are no fun these days.’

He couldn’t argue with that, really.

‘Be that as it may. If I were ‘fun’ I might order you to imbibe a large gulp.’

He grinned. ‘As my king commands.’

The fool tilted the goblet to him in a toast, and drained it with one throw of his head. Thranduil couldn’t help but grimace, along with everyone else who knew that it contained green ginger wine, which was most certainly not designed to be drunk alone, let alone in that manner.

‘Did I really put my son in your charge for a time?’ he grumbled.

‘It was the best decision you ever made.’

‘That remains to be seen. Where is Almeldir by the way?’

‘Here,’ said the elf himself, appearing from behind him with a small armful of papers.

‘Excellent.’ He set his goblet upon the mantelpiece. ‘See you all at dinner. Do not enjoy yourselves too much.’

They chose an anteroom, and Almeldir unloaded the papers for their now daily meeting to ensure Thranduil was fully appraised of all developments. Whilst they were dealing with the effects of the storm, supplementing the realm, and pushing things back to normal, there was no room for error. Thankfully most of it was straightforward today.

‘…and you have six other missives,’ Almeldir finished, with an air of sympathy.

‘Six?’

‘Four are from the healers in the south. One of these is from the official contact…the others are not.’

He passed the letters over, the open seals testifying that he had also read them.

The news from the healers in the far South was that there was in fact no news; they had yet to identify the source of the sickness affecting the trees there.  They were considering other methods.

‘It must be more complex than we thought, for there to be so many conflicting accounts,’ Thranduil murmured.

‘You would think they could agree on minor details, but apparently not.’

‘It seemed this mystery vexes some of the healers excessively. Still, it should not be enough for them to begin quarrelling thus.’

‘I do not believe they will lose sight of their aim, nor allow petty differences in opinion to muddle their judgement, or their ability to work together.

Perhaps, but he would be keeping a close eye on them nevertheless. Speaking of keeping a close eye…

‘How is the current opinion on our guest?’

‘Better than we had hoped. Far better. There are a few hiccups amongst the healers after this silk fiasco but he has handled himself very well, I think.’

‘Yes he has.’

‘For a little light relief, news that he intends to broaden his dancing portfolio with Gonathravorn has gone down well. No-one believes he will be much good, but people either think it’s rather charming or don’t care.’

Alarm prickled over his skin. ‘Those are very specific tidings for the people to have heard, and they have spread very quickly. What else is being said?’

Almeldir shook his head. ‘Nothing of that nature. Nothing aloud at any rate. I’ll tell you immediately if I should hear a whisper of rumour.’

‘Good. So overall the tide has not turned either way.’

‘Not even with your salty Telerin sayings, no.’

The door opened, and Nostalion stood in the doorway with a tight jaw and one hand in a fist.

‘I’d like a word with the king,’ he stated.

Almeldir glanced across the table and didn’t rise. Whether he was following Thranduil’s lead or making a point wasn’t immediately clear.

‘I do not believe we have anything else to discuss, do we?’ Thranduil asked him.

Almeldir still waited a long moment. ‘Nothing that cannot wait,’ he said finally.

He left, reluctance limning his every movement. Nostalion spoke as soon as the door clicked closed, in peculiar echo of Alassiel.

‘I have spoken with my sister.’

The temptation to enquire whether that was an unusual occurrence was great, but this conversation would probably be difficult enough without antagonising him overmuch.

‘Yes?’

‘That is all you have to say? She is distraught, Thranduil.’

‘She appears to be quite well to me.’

‘She is hiding it well but how could she not be, after you have made her feel as though she is a failure for something she cannot help?’

‘I’ve done no such thing, and you really must allow her to fletch her own arrows.’

‘No, what I must do-what _we_ must do-is protect her.’

Thranduil couldn’t help but sigh. ‘Will we protect her from everything, for eternity?’

‘You don’t believe she has already been failed enough times?’

_How did he dare?_

 ‘Do not foist your own guilty insecurities upon _me_. I have enough remorse of my own without also bearing yours.’

‘This is not about me, it’s about your utter lack of compassion.’

‘Lack of compassion? How much more _compassionate_ can I possibly be? I have absolved her of her duty to this, a duty she took upon herself, a role she knows better than anyone. This will surely double the time needed, and doubtless cause inefficiency and wastage, at a time when we need every stitch of silk and every egg the remaining worms produce. Perchance I might lack a little gentleness, but in your much vaunted empathy for others have you considered that I do not have the _luxury_ of gentleness when I have an entire realm to lead. I can barely keep everything straight in my mind, let alone divine how to act upon it, and if you think you could even do as I do, let alone have grace left over for everyone who needs it, then you are very much mista-’

‘This has nothing to do with any of that. You just have a total lack of understanding, you think you’re right, and you’re enlightened, and everyone else should follow your lead, and all because,’ his expression turned rancid for a moment, and he flicked his eyes to Thranduil’s feet and back to his face. ‘Just because you have _quite_ overcome your own opposition.’     

The spite in his voice was so unexpected, and so atypical, that it gave Thranduil pause.

‘What?’

‘I am not a fool, Cousin. I may be silent more often than I am not, but that does not make me a lackwit.’

‘By that token, the rest of the family are?’

‘You don’t deny it then? You simply jest, instead?’

Thranduil crossed his arms and raised his chin. ‘What is there to deny? My bed is no one’s business but my own.’

‘So I have the right of it.’ By Eru, the elf was _trembling_. ‘And you don’t care about this line that you walk-

‘Don’t start with me, I know more of ‘this line’ than you can imagine. I’ve debated it, with myself, and with Elrond, so many times. I’m sickened with it. I may be a king but I am also Thranduil, and it may surprise everyone to know that I can be both-‘

The bell for dinner chimed, nearly absurdly benign. They paused and considered one another, their poorly planned words hanging between them both. Nostalion simply turned on his heel, and left in silence.

Thank Rodhyn they were entertaining tonight; there were enough people present that they needn’t speak. He didn’t particularly feel like spending the evening with the family however, so he excused himself after the meal by saying that he had letters to answer.

Legolas caught him as he left. ‘Would you like me to have them sent?’ he asked.

‘’No, thank you. I’ll take them to Almeldir when we meet tomorrow. What are your plans, by the by? I thought we might go for a ride or something of that nature, just the two of us.’

His boy’s smile was so beautiful.

‘I have a free afternoon, actually, and I know the kitchen is hankering after some more sweet cicily, so we could ride up to the dell near Divot after training?’

‘Yes, I did see some there only recently. Have Galion pack us some lunch and we will make an afternoon of it.’

He cupped Legolas’ cheek fondly, before they said good night. As Legolas went to go back to the dining room, he met Elrond in the doorway.

‘I need to speak with Corelleth before she leaves tomorrow,’ Elrond explained. She was going to the north of the forest in the morning, with the intention of choosing some boxwood to trade for.            

‘How long will you be with Corelleth?’ Thranduil asked.

‘An hour, perhaps. No more.’

‘You could bring that manuscript, if you like, and I’ll take a look tonight.’

This was one of Elrond’s projects; an old book so damaged that the text was barely readable. Elrond was scribing a new version, which he would then bind, and hoped Thranduil could paint some simple  illuminations for it. It would be a pleasant diversion.

Alone in his quiet sitting room, he removed his boots and robe, putting on a simple tunic over his leggings, and padded barefoot to sit in an armchair before the fire with a tumbler of the new brandy for a change. Once there, he sighed in relief and let his mind drift aimlessly for a time.

It seemed no time at all before a knock came at the door.

‘Come in,’ he called.

There he was, with an armful of paper.

‘You’re early,’ Thranduil said.

‘She knows what she is looking for,’ Elrond said, and set his papers on the side table before crossing the room to kiss him. ‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Hello. This brandy Galion found is excellent.’

He handed the glass over, and Elrond took a sip.

‘Yes, that has a lovely undertone. Would you like another?’

‘Thank you, yes.’

They moved to the sofa and sat together with the manuscript, discussing the themes and reading sections that might inform the choice of imagery and colours.

Their conversation segued into talk of Dale, and whether a visit would be possible before Elrond returned. Once they had agreed on that, Thranduil found himself besieged by questions about all manner of topics about the budding little town. After perhaps the fifth time where he had to concede that he simply did not know, he couldn’t help but laugh.

He was cut off by a kiss.

‘And that was in aid of?’ he asked.

He felt a touch at his groin and his breath hitched as Elrond found the laces of his breeches. A surge of warmth swept through his belly and he began to fill immediately. That hand pushed into his breeches and cupped him and he gasped into Elrond’s mouth, and felt himself twitch in his palm. He tried to deepen the kiss but Elrond pulled back until their lips merely brushed each other and squeezed. No pretence, no attempt at seduction this time; a simple question.

‘May I fuck you?’

The soft curse escaped him before he knew it. The prickle of desire he’d been feeling all evening came upon him all at once.

‘Yes. Yes, do that. Now.’ Want subsumed him all of a sudden and he had Elrond’s laces open in kind in moments. He took hold of him and stroked tightly. Elrond hissed against the skin of his neck and used his hold on his waist to lead him to stand.

‘The bedroom.’ he said, already beginning to pull him that way.

‘Here.’

‘We need-‘

‘Do you still have that ointment?’

‘Yes. Yes that would do, but the door-’

‘Is _locked_ , Elrond. Come here and…and…’

Elrond chuckled. ‘Become shy, have we? Say it, lover.’

Thranduil pulled him forwards, threaded fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and kissed him roughly.

‘Kindly cease mocking me, and fuck me like you suggested.’

Elrond went still for a moment. ‘Gladly,’ he breathed, and strode swiftly to the pack by the door that he hadn’t yet removed.

Thranduil noticed that he couldn’t help but try the lock before he retrieved the jar.

The scrape of the jar opening and the intent in Elrond’s gaze made his stomach flinch reflexively. Elrond scooped out some ointment and smoothed it on his member before throwing the pot onto the settee. A moment later hands were on him, drawing his breeches down past his buttocks, manipulating him, taking him to his knees, folding him over the seat of the settee. Those same hands gently but firmly held his hips as the blunt, slick cockhead nudged at him. The initial push sent sharp pains skittering up his spine and Elrond stopped, the transient discomfort fading as he withdrew and reached to retrieve the ointment. He kissed Thranduil’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, ‘I was a little too focussed there.’

Thranduil merely nodded, the feel even of his own hair on his skin teasing him. The soft kisses to his back as Elrond slipped a slick finger into him were near torture, but it ended quickly and this time, when Elrond took hold of his hips once more, he was filled steadily and without pain.

It was wonderful, letting Elrond take him, letting his body clutch and tighten as it would, letting occasional quiet exclamations though his control. And what of it? It was Elrond behind him, Elrond who had seen him at some of his worst moments, who knew some of the deep, dark parts of him, whom he had comforted in turn. If he could trust anyone with this, it was Elrond.

Somehow, it didn’t feel demeaning or disquieting for Elrond to be forceful in this way, after their history. With anyone else he would have not only balked at rather rough handling, but most likely dealt a hearty rejoinder. Even when Elrond was the roughest he had even been with him, there was something indefinable that still felt as though he was being…cherished. When he was so close he could feel his body tightening, those strong callused fingers pressed at the base of his shaft.

‘Hold if you can,’ Elrond managed.

And he did, as Elrond’s movements grew irregular and he groaned and shuddered, finally finishing with great heaving breaths. He withdrew with care.

‘Sit here,’ he breathed, and had him sit on the very edge of the settee.

For the second time that day, Elrond’s mouth enclosed him, and again he reflexively clutched at his twilit hair, his legs coming up as he curled in on himself. A single touch to his still so-sensitive entrance and he climaxed.

He came back to awareness to find himself sitting in the exact same spot he had been before Elrond had begun their little interlude. He laughed softly, and Elrond let his head fall to rest on his thigh and followed him.

Elrond came up to sit beside him again. There was a vague pain in his stomach, which had never happened before. It seemed Elrond indeed had reason for caution in this.

There was a touch on his wrist. ‘Thranduil?’ He looked up to see Elrond frowning.

‘Hm? Oh,’ He glanced to his own hand on his abdomen, 'a mild discomfort.’

Elrond nodded and thankfully didn’t apologise. ‘You should lie flat,’ he said.

They went to Thranduil’s bedchamber, and lay down together under the covers. Thranduil settled stretched out on his back, and Elrond lay on his side to his left. Elrond rested a hand on his stomach; whether because he had done something or because Thranduil expected it to, the discomfort waned.

‘You need to tell me,’ Elrond said, ‘if this ever happens.’

He nodded vague agreement. ‘Never has before,’ he said.

He closed his eyes as the day crept up on him, and he began to drift into reverie. Elrond was warm next to him, and it had been soothing to waken next to him that morning.

‘You can stay if you like.’

‘I think I shall,’ he distantly heard Elrond murmur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps. 8000 words guys!  
> pps. and we also, in chapter 5, finally passed the Bechdel test. It's depressing how much internalised misogyny I must have that it took me that long. Never mind, we're getting there!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond might be overthinking things, but then that isn't exactly news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm sorry for such a belated chapter- it's also rather short and boring because I wrote myself into a corner. However, it's something of a filler before things begin to pick up again. I'm sure I'll learn in time how to show ratehr than tell, but for now I just need to get on with it before I get too stuck. 
> 
> Thanks so much as ever to everyone who's reading, kudosing, and commenting :) Things have been difficult lately, and it's been the encouragement I receive from people on here which have kept me writing this when I've doubted myself. Honestly, without your feedback, I don't think this would have got even this far.

It was a small matter for Elrond to will forth a wisp of power to still the muscles of Thranduil’s abdomen from their cramping, somewhat belying the import of the means by which it had been caused. Tonight, there had welled in him a need for force which he’d never demonstrated before, nor even desired. Thranduil would argue, perhaps, that no true damage had he caused, and for many, if not most, such disregard for his lover’s comfort would not, alas, be unusual. Yet it was disquieting.

Such care had he taken, to ensure that Thranduil’s experiences in this were always agreeable. When first they’d thought to shift to this form of intimacy, he’d considered that it might be best for Thranduil to direct them, as he could react to his body’s responses in a way that Elrond could not divine. Yet, it was a fey blade, this aspect of Thranduil that was so resolute, so dogged when he judged it necessary. It was an admirable trait, but, as it had then, a recollection caught in Elrond’s mind; Thranduil at Dagorlad, wounded, seizing an arrow embedded in his own flesh, and against all reason tearing it loose before he rallied himself and his people for the next charge. No, this touch held more threat than the uninitiated could know; Elrond had decided that it would be best if he himself guided them.

All that care, to protect Thranduil from himself, and yet it was Elrond who had dealt hurt. He, who had more knowledge of the horrors of such things when in extremis than almost any other elf who yet lived. For all that Thranduil had not reacted ill, would he now balk? Unlikely, but perhaps he ought.

As though he knew he were the subject of scrutiny, Thranduil stirred, and sighed, but slipped back into rest.

This could never happen again. Violence was a vice was so easily sown. A single seed was all that was required to drive an ever widening wedge into a person’s mind, however strong that mind appeared at the outset. And if this were permitted, what else might be? At what point would Thranduil stop him? Elrond could not fall into repetition, and the steepening spiral down into cruelty. He would learn from the past. He would not tread those deep and dreadful footsteps.

Instead of tearing at the leaves, he must locate the root.

There had been some disquiet in Thranduil, some irritation that had leeched from him, just a little, through the evening. How Elrond had wished to brush it from his mind like so many cobwebs. And then Thranduil had laughed and shook his head, had admitted without guile or shame that he simply didn’t know the answers to Elrond’s queries. And Elrond had felt want borne of a yearning for _more._

What had he desired? More pleasure? No, not that; if he had yearned for more pleasure he would have drawn out their intimacies until his furthest endurance. It appeared that mere sensation was not enough. Nor was it a strictly unfamiliar sensation, for immediately other occasions came to mind. What desire was it then that had built in him until it had altered so drastically? Only that very morning had the feeling risen, when watching Thranduil comb his hair, fascination caught in the folds of the robe over his shoulders, and the bend of his wrist as he dealt with snarls with practical, graceless motions. How strong, the longing to touch him then. Nor, now that he considered it,, was it merely physical touch. Had he not volunteered to find Thranduil when Legolas enquired if Elrond had seen him? Having met Legolas at the entrance of the caves, he had left again immediately, without even disposing of his satchel. It would have been discomforting, somehow, for Thranduil to know it and so he’d not quite told him the truth.

It felt an age since Celebrian had left.  It had been so long since he had enjoyed the warm tenderness of companionship, so long that he had been holding back the affection that sometimes welled in him. In this need for closeness - nay, call it as it is! In this _loneliness_ – affection for a dear friend proved more significant, and more compelling, that it might in usual circumstances. As understanding strengthened between them, Thranduil was grown all the dearer.

And yet, this camaraderie could not be expressed in the normal manner of things, as between two friends who had no conflicting obligations; they were compelled in public to treat each other with more loftiness than was their want.

Perhaps once this loneliness were sated with _both_ physical and spiritual affection it would wane, and the need for closeness grow less intense? Even when they were alone, he held back at present. Yet if restraining himself from affectionate gestures meant that he was over-intense in their intimacy, it might be better simply to yield for now.

He dreamt of meadows, of a single seed mottled with sickness finding a speck of bare ground and taking root. It grew, and matured, and yielded seeds of it’s own. The interloper multiplied, and spread, and the plants began to join up together and block the light from the bright flowers and fragranced grasses. With stems now thick as limbs, they enmeshed together over once lush ground and were become a battlement impenetrable, where no good thought or feeling could ever infringe. Without warning, his body was made material in the dream-meadow, no longer an observer; instead the choking weeds were around and above him, and sharp thorns dug into the flesh of his legs, and a thick bramble clamped over his mouth and stopped his very breath.

When Elrond woke, it was to find a forearm draped across his face and a knee digging into his thigh. The modicum of light from lanterns up in the apex of the room mimicked starlight, and in its glow he could see that his bedmate was sprawled on his back, head slipping from the pillow and yet evidently deep in reverie. Elrond’s irritation drained quickly, and once the horror of the dream had diluted he smiled at the sheer familiarity of it, as much a part of being with Thranduil as his loyalty and his vibrancy. The yearning surfaced, clear now that he knew what it was he felt. For now he wanted the comfortable lock of Thranduil’s limbs against him, the warmth and solidity of him. Where usually he might have settled for taking Thranduil’s hand in his own, or perhaps cupping a palm over his hip, what he desired was rather different.

If Thranduil had been in similar straits, he would have acted rather than ponder eternally.

Gingerly lifting the offending arm and knee, he turned Thranduil onto his side with a healer’s surety, before settling into place at his back. He drew his arm around Thranduil’s waist and let his idle fingertips brush over Thranduil’s abdomen. 

Thranduil’s breathing changed, deepening. But not even; not with sleep.

He turned his face away from Thranduils nape to glance over his shoulder. Though awake, his eyes were closed, and as Elrond had suspected the brush of his fingertips had not gone unnoticed. He felt his own sex fill in response, and danced his fingers up Thranduil’s torso to circle his thumb around a nipple. Lifting the fall of hair from Thranduil’s neck, he kissed him there, and on the thin skin behind his ear, until Thranduil squirmed, and pressed backwards into him with a deep inhale, and a sigh. His hand reached back to stroke along Elrond’s thigh, before he stretched and reached for the bedside table.

With the jar retrieved, they settled back against each other, and Elrond guided his leg forward. Thranduil’s breath was already coming quickly, and Elrond fought to slow his own as he smeared a little grease between his inner thighs and closed his greased hand around Thranduil’s sex.

It wasn’t quite the same, but oh it was slick, and warm, and when Thranduil pressed his thighs together Elrond moaned and squeezed his hand in return. Thranduil’s strong hand travelled up Elrond’s arm to grasp his shoulder as he turned his head to kiss him.

It didn’t take long before Thranduil was curling into himself, and soon he thrust into Elrond’s hand, and his thighs clasped and Elrond was lost.

It could not have been more than a few scant hours since they had last coupled, and he muffled a still breathless laugh in golden hair.

‘The Edain teach,’ he mused, ‘that we lose all desire once our children are born. That our lusts grow wan and weak.’

As expected, Thranduil scoffed, still shivering every few moments, staring blankly into the middle distance, his breathing not quite yet under control. 

‘Do they indeed? I wonder from whom they gleaned _that_ impression.’

Then he twisted onto his back, stretched. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ he announced. ‘Are you coming?’

 

 

The night was yet dark, and they would have no difficulty in reaching the ridge in time for the dawn. As they walked they continued their discussion from a few nights past, identifying constellations as they wandered through glades, and telling each other tales they knew that were associated with them. Elrond completed the Dwarven tale he had begun the evening before, which had caught Thranduil’s reluctant interest. As they walked, Thranduil stooped on occasion to pick a handful of wood sorrel, or sweet violet flowers, and they shared them on the way. Perhaps it was this that made him look to Elrond particularly Sylvan today, with his hair still damp and dark from bathing, in loose Nandorin braids weaved with wooden beads that were coloured with copper precipitate. He had been relaxed as he weaved them, and competent, and when Elrond had asked if he might assist had declined, saying that it might be a little obvious if he did so, which was undoubtedly true.  

‘How the Naugrim can see an anvil in such a shape I cannot guess,’ Thranduil said as they reached the ridge, frowning at the constellation.

‘What do you see?’

Thranduil smiled wryly.

‘A spider,’ he said, ‘Which I will undoubtedly see until the ending of the world.’

To Elrond’s questioning glance, he continued.

‘It features in the story which was Legolas’ favourite for some time when he was a child. He made Aeluin tell it to him near every night at one point.’ He traced the outline of the ‘anvil’. ‘There, you see, is a spider. There, to the North, a small figure who looks to be dancing, and there, at a stretch, a tree. The tale of the girl, the spider, and the honey tree.’

He sat and leaned back on his hands. Elrond joined him, sitting close enough that he could almost feel the warmth of him, but in this potentially public place he couldn’t quite get close as he wished. Thranduil’s voice took on the air of familiar memory, and the cadence of children’s stories. 

‘Back before the First Dawn, there was a clan of the Kinn-lai who were courageous and loved their forest well. They knew each sapling that grew in their Wood and cared for them with the greatest of skill and tenderness. There was one girl whose knowledge was yet richer than any other, and she had talent beyond any other of the clan for finding the good foods of the forest, so much so that some believed that the deity of growing things, Ivann, blessed and watched over her, whispering secrets to her in her reverie. Some believed that she was not a girl at all but a spirit of the woods, or even Ivann herself in disguise. You must decide for yourself, but whatever the reason, she always foraged the clan’s best food; the plums she found were just a little sweeter, the pears a little juicier, the earthnuts a little plumper.  This was fortunate, because they were not alone in those woods. The Shadow was stretching it’s claws, and an evil seed of the Gloomweaver, who is now named Ungoliant, crept through the boughs of their land. They were clever, and steady of mind, and so they could restrain their fears and hide their bodies and minds when it drew near. In time, it’s presence grew too constant; they were restrained, and everyone knows how bonds will chafe at elves who were birthed in the wilds.’

 Here, Thranduil flashed him a grin.

‘Many of their strongest tried to kill it, but could not, for though they moved quickly it moved quicker, and though they were strong, it was stronger. Eventually it seemed that they might be forced to leave their friends the trees, and their streams, to yearn forever for their familiar glades. The little girl who knew the woods better than any other asked that they let her try one last time. They said she could not, for she was too young; she still wandered the forest naked, and slept with the other children in their pile. She would not be dissuaded, however, and when next the other children rested she did not sleep but crept away. It was not long before the monster found her, with his great hairy legs and his body bloated with the dead - you can see why I wasn’t sure it was suitable for Legolas - and it laughed because she stood there unafraid.

 _Why don’t you run?_ It hissed - Aeluin always spoke with a spider’s voice and tickled Legolas with her hair but you’ll have to use your imagination I’m afraid - _The running makess your meat juicier_.

She put her hands on her hips.

 _Because I have come to barter with you,_ she said. _All this running and hiding is tiresome, so we have decided that I will tell you a secret so that you will go away._

It’s many eyes glittered in the starlight as it scuttled closer.

 _A ssecret? For what ssecret would I abandon such juicy mealsss?_ At this the little girl laughed.

 _Juicy?_  She scoffed. _You think we are juicy? You are a stupid spider to think so. Why, I am glad we’re going to tell you, for now I almost feel quite sorry for you._

_Ssorry? For me?_

_Yes. All this time and you didn’t know that the best and most succulent food is in the trees and in the earth. My clan have sent me to show you, so that you will have good food and eat that instead of us._

The spider seemed sceptical. _If they were good to eat I would have known it already,_ it said.

 _Well yes,_ the girl replied, _but you see everyone knows that the food I find is the very best in all the forest, and although I’ve never told another soul where my secret treasures are, I will tell just you this once, but you must promise never to tell anyone else or there will never be enough for you!_

The spider thought, but not for long. If the girl spoke truly then he would have a new source of food for the days when he was lazy, and if she did not (or even if she did…) once she had shown him all the secret places he would capture her and eat her as a snack.

So he stretched his finest smile on his hideous face and followed the girl to a plum tree.

 _The others ignore this tree,_ she said, _because it does not grow many plums. But they are the most excellent plums you will ever taste._

He plucked one from the tree and tried it, and indeed where before all things from the earth had tasted like water and soil, this burst in his pincers like flesh and the sweet juice was sticky and flavoursome as blood - I did tell you it was a horror story didn’t I? - Anyway, so he ate every single plum from the tree in his greed and told her that this was well enough but he would need more to fill himself.

So they travelled next to find pears- yes, Elrond, I know I’ve made a mistake with my seasons, hush-and earthnuts. He ate all of them and even in his vast greed was nearly full and ready to eat her when she told him that the absolute best food to eat was the unparalleled sweetness of honey. So he decided to let her live a little longer, just to show him the honey. He was slow now, with all the food that was filling him up, and tired when they reached an old elm tree that held the most enormous bee’s nest he had ever seen.

 _You have to climb through there,_ the girl said, pointing to a fork in the boughs that would be the perfect spot to reach the honey.With difficulty, he climbed and settled in the fork. He cut a gash in the nest, and honey seeped forth and it was indeed the most wonderful taste the greedy thing had ever known. He drank and drank, never realising that the little girl was whispering to the tree and to the bees, and that the boughs were slowly closing around his body. He began to feel little stings from the bees, and ignored them. But then, there were more and more and they began to truly hurt him, so he tried to pull away only to find that he was stuck fast. He bit and clawed at the branches, but they held him tightly around the waist and squeezed in the tree’s anger. Then the girl took her slingshot and began to shoot stones at the spider at hard as she could, but she was yet small and preferred foraging over hunting and so had no true weapons of her own, not even of antler bone. The spider was strong, though sick from the bee’s poison, and eventually he began to pull away from the tree. The girl was finally afraid, for her plan was failing before her eyes.  It was at that moment that the whole clan, which had been tracking her, adults and children alike, found them. They swarmed around the tree and in mere moments the terror that had stalked them was destroyed. They praised the girl, and scolded her, and praised her again, and ever since then the Kinn-lai have told the tale of how one of their earliest clans was saved by cunning, and greed, and the love of family.’ He shrugged. ‘Aeluin is of course a far better storyteller than I. She was always very good about repeating it so often. I don’t know that I could have been, when hearing it was quite enough.’

‘I imagine it was. You certainly recited that as though it’s etched in your mind. I don’t believe that is unusual for children though; I recall when Elros and I…’ He paused, tried to think of another anecdote.

‘Go on,’ Thranduil murmured, his eyes on the sky.

‘I’ve lost my train of thought.’

‘No, you haven’t. I mean it; go.’

‘When Elros and I were at Amon Ereb we would play a game where we would choose constellations, and he and I would imagine what we saw in it, and with this we would make a tale. Maglor would play his harp and compose a song from it, there under the stars. Ridiculous nonsense, mostly. All tales of bears and frogs in bogs.‘

Thranduil gave a queer smile. ‘It sounds a good game.’

‘It was.’

From the small cross-bodied satchel that strapped against his back like a quiver, Thranduil drew his battered sketchbook and a nub of charcoal.

‘That pattern of violets under that elm,’ he said, pointing with the charcoal, ‘might form a good basis for the background of the third illumination.’

‘Particularly if you can capture the colour of them under the moonlight.’

‘Yes,’ Thranduil murmured, already sketching.

As the dawn birds began to sing, they walked back to the stronghold, and Thranduil’s studio, where Thranduil brightened the lamps as Elrond began to clear the central table so that they had space to work. The paintings on the table were scattered haphazardly, and Thranduil returned to help him.

‘I have been meaning to remove these,’ he murmured, gathering several and beginning to put them aside.

‘I’m pleased to donate my hands, to make light work,’ Elrond replied. ‘After all, it is I who has been keeping you busy.’

They were paintings of Doriath, on poorer quality material than Thranduil usually used. He gathered them carefully regardless; glades, and caverns and stairwells all together in a pile that he lifted and took to another table. The topmost painting was of a child, sleeping swathed in blankets, cradled in their mother’s arms as she sat in the snow, though her face was in shadow. As he set the pile down, he noticed the gnarling grasp of her fingers, and wondered at it. The colours were not at Thranduil’s usual standard either; even for under moonlight the child’s skin was strangely blue, and it’s eyes too blank. Thranduil would not make such a mistake. Elrond noticed his abdominal muscles growing tight, and his heartbeat increasing, as he saw that the shadow on the blanket was too well defined, and that it was highlighted in russet. The child could not have seen more than a handful of snowfalls.

Hearing Thranduil set materials upon the table behind him, he returned it to the pile, covered it with a page of innocuous sketches of peregrine falcons, and forced himself to turn to Thranduil and think carefully of illuminations.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this would be less terrifying the second time around. No such luck.  
> If anyone fancies beta reading the next few chapters, I would be appreciative :) 
> 
> This is set a year or two after the fall of Angmar, around TA 2000. A glaring issue with that is that Celebrian actually is around until about TA 2500. But we're going to pretend they meant TA 1500, OK? OK.


End file.
